


I Loathe You

by themoonknowsmysecrets



Category: The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, The Princess Diaries - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, F/M, Friendship, Hate to Love, Movie: The Princess Diaries 2: Royal Engagement (2004), Teen Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:15:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 47,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23737453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themoonknowsmysecrets/pseuds/themoonknowsmysecrets
Summary: Princess Clary returns to Idris after four years in America. Everything is as it should be. Until she learns she must marry in thirty days to become Queen or forfeit the crown to none other than Jace Herondale. Basically The Princess Diaries but TMI.
Relationships: Clary Fray/Jace Wayland
Comments: 13
Kudos: 23





	1. Welcome Home, Biscuit

Princess Clarissa gazed up from her sketchbook, taking in the sight of her home country as Idris came into view. Her heart ached as she thought of her home. She hadn't laid eyes on the green mountains and sparkling lakes in so long that for a time she'd almost forgotten. Almost.

A noble turned king, her father, Valentine Morgenstern had died in a car crash, along with her brother, Jonathan when she was fourteen. After investigations, the Queen had reason to believe their death was no accident. Jonathan had been the heir to Idris until his death, meaning Clary was next in line. Fearing for her daughter's life, Jocelyn sent the young princess to live in the foreign land of America with her best friend and trusted head of security, Luke Graymark. It was now a month after Clary had graduated from high school, and Jocelyn knew her daughter was finally ready to come home and claim her rightful place as Queen.

She was amazed at the thought of being queen, yet nerves were a permanent resident now in her mind. Her mother was most likely to help her, along with Izzy. Oh, how she hadn't seen her best friend in years. She couldn't wait to see everyone from her childhood. Well, mostly everyone. Isabelle Lightwood and her brother, Alec, had come to the palace so many times over her childhood she lost track after a few months. They were practically residents, always over when their parents had business to attend to and even when there wasn't a specific reason, they were there. On multiple occasions, they had brought their honorary brother, none other than Jace Herondale. She rolled her eyes at the thought. He'd always gotten on her nerve. From the way he was a little too cocky; to the way he never wiped that smirk off his face. She wondered if the Lightwoods were still in touch with the Herondales.

"Ready, Clary?" Luke asked, nudging her shoulder.

They had landed without her noticing. "Yep," she answered. She gently placed her sketchbook into her carry-on backpack before disembarking the plane.

The first thing she noticed was the air, cool and crisp. The sun was setting in the distance, leaving an array of beautiful warm tones that she knew her mother would be dying to paint. Luke waited for the chauffeur to gather their luggage before sliding into the limo. She knew that starting soon her etiquette would have to make a reappearance. Her mother always told her that a princess should never slide into the car. Her mother would have a heart attack if she'd known how many times Clary had in the past four years. She looked over at Luke, who had rolled down the window as soon as the car drove from the airport. She knew he loved being back here as much as she did.  
"You know, you can stick your head out the window if you'd like," she teased, chuckling at the way he glared.

He gave her a small shove on the shoulder, "I may like the outdoors more than the average person, but I'm not a golden retriever."

She laughed amused once more when she saw how desperately he was trying to hide his smile, "yeah, yeah. Sure, Luke."

The rest of the ride passed in awe, each utterly consumed with the speeding landscape. Clary found she was smiling and waving at the people, who had gathered around, excited for their princess to be home. Before long, the gleaming city of Alicante came into view, and the glass castle towered over them.

"Her Royal Highness Princess Clarissa Adele Fairchild has arrived," was announced as she made her way out of the limo. She never did get used to people announcing her name wherever she went.

She was stood in the entryway for a moment before her mother was rushing over. Jocelyn clutched her dress in one hand so she could glide with ease toward her daughter. Then she was enveloped in the first hug she'd gotten from her mother in four years, and damn did it feel good.

"Darling, how was the flight?" her mother questioned as she pulled away. Her mother had faint smile lines surrounding her mouth, yet still looked youthful and bright. Her hair was pulled up into an elegant updo, yet auburn curls had managed to escape, and her dress was emerald green.

Before she had the chance to respond, she heard a deafening squeal. She saw a few guards and advisers flinch as the girl made her way down the steps, heels clacking against the floors in an eager attempt to reach her. She recognized her immediately as Isabelle Lightwood, the girl she hadn't seen in forever. Her ink-black hair was silky and straight, swishing back and forth from all the movement and she wore a beautiful long, navy blue dress that accentuated her hips looked striking against her hair. The girl reached her in record time and pulled her into a hug.

"Clare! I've missed you so much. There's so much that's happened over the past four years, we need to catch up."

Clary laughed lightly as the bubbly girl loosened her death grip and faced her, "I've missed you too, Iz. Always as loud as ever I see."

She waved her off, "well, you know me." She turned to the Queen, "I'm sorry, Jocelyn, but could I snatch Clary for a while. I know you were just reunited so I wouldn't like to intrude-"

"Nonsense, Isabelle," Jocelyn smiled. "I have things I need to discuss with Luke, don't I?"

She directed the last to Luke. She smiled warmly at her friend, which he returned. Clary had always wondered if there was anything going on between her mother and him. They seemed to be more than just friends. Luke had always denied it when she'd asked. After a while, she'd stopped asking yet her mind never stopped wondering. The Queen turned back to the two girls who were still standing in the foyer, "Run along, just make sure she's ready in time for the Princess' birthday ball."

Clary groaned. She was never a fan of dances; they were more of Izzy's scene. She always had to make her rounds with the noble families and dance until splinters were covering her feet. "You really didn't have too."

Jocelyn flicked both of her wrists as if the idea of no ball was appalling. "Sweetheart, what kind of mother would I be if I didn't throw my eighteen-year-old daughter a ball?"

"A normal one," Clary muttered though it had no bite. She was glad her mother was trying to do something special for her. Her intentions were in the right place which mattered most.

Izzy rolled her eyes playfully; no doubt having heard the little red head's response. She suddenly swung her arm through Clary's, dragging the redhead up the stairs. "We have much to talk about. Don't worry, Jocelyn, Clary will look incredible tonight!" 

*****

It was surprising how quickly things returned to normalcy with the pair, laughing and teasing as though Clary'd never left. They'd, of course, kept in touch over the years, but life always got in the way. Clary had spent time with her school friends Maia and Jordan, going to movies and the occasional party, while Izzy had been going to garden parties and being tutored at the palace. The past few years were so different, yet it hadn't driven a wedge between them. If that didn't, she didn't know what would.  
Clary had followed Isabelle to her old chambers, which were different from the last time she'd seen it.

Her old room looked as though her personality had exploded all over. Paintings and sketches stuck to every inch of space. The room before her looked like an extra guest bedroom at some manor. That was going to have to change.

They sat on the grand bed, catching up. It was more like Izzy chattering away as Clary intently listened, but she didn't mind. She liked hearing Isabelle's clear, melodic voice again. It was nostalgic.

"-was out with Simon and… Are you listening?" Izzy's voice snapped Clary out of her thoughts. Clary grinned sheepishly and shook her head. "It's fine, I guess I've been talking your ear off."

"No, no, I really don't mind. I was just thinking." She flopped down onto her pillow and snuggled into Izzy's side. The flight really had taken its toll. She struggled to keep her eyes open, yet her eyelids won the battle in the end. It was a comfortable silence for a few minutes before Clary forced herself to get up and she smirked at Izzy jokingly.

"What's this I hear about Simon? Simon Lovelace, I presume."

Izzy blushed a deep shade of scarlet, resembling the rose of Idris that frequently appeared in the royal gardens.

"Oh, yeah." She giggled and sighed deeply, "I used to have the biggest crush on him. Remember that? Back when he'd chase us around the gardens until our dresses were filthy and our mothers would scold us."

Clary smiled at the memory. It seemed long ago yet she missed it terribly.

"I would always drop him hints that I was interested, like always asking him to dance with me at parties and holding his hand. He never seemed to notice!" Isabelle huffed in exasperation.

"Well, Simon's just clueless like that," Clary said which was true. That boy couldn't take a hint if his life depended on it.

"Yeah, so I was extremely fed up. Instead of waiting around for him to ask me, I asked him out about a year ago and it's been good ever since." Clary faced her friend to see a genuine, loving smile on her face. Even if Clary had never been in love, she was glad her friend was experiencing it.

"That's great, Izzy, really."

"Who knows," Izzy grinned cheekily at the princess before continuing in a singsong-like manner, "You may meet someone at the ball..."

Izzy shot up from her laid-back position and snapped her fingers in remembrance. "Which reminds me, my dear Clarissa, we must get you ready for that ball." She leaped off the bed and bounded into the walk-in closet, shuffling through the selection of gowns that Clary would have never personally chosen. "Let's pretty you up."

It was close to time, and Izzy had managed to stuff Clary into a heavy dress and tripping hazards that were more commonly known as high heels. Izzy squealed at her friend, amazed at the finished result. She had put on some makeup despite Clary's adamant refusal, convinced Clary to wear at least three-inch heels and had chosen a gown that made the princess look stunning, with accessories to match. "Turn around and look at yourself, Clare!"

Clary turned to face the floor length mirror in her closet and was shocked. She'd forgotten what it was like to wear dresses and be all dolled up. Her dress was stunning. A strapless, sweetheart neckline bodice, that cascaded out at the hips. The bottom trim was lined with intricate floral designs. She swept her hands over the deep purple material, surprised by its softness. "Thank you, Iz. I'm speechless."

"Anything for you, C."

*****

Izzy had left Clary-in the hallway that lead to the balcony looking over the ballroom- to meet up with her family; sure, they'd be arriving soon. She promised to find her later, knowing full well the party was going to be dull. She waited for what seemed like forever before the double doors swung open, and she made her appearance. The lights were bright and harsh, blinding her momentarily before she could make out the faces, she all recognized yet barely knew. She found her mother, standing on the steps below her. She looked as exquisite as ever with the crown gracing her head. Jocelyn gave her daughter a reassuring smile before clinking her champagne flute, gathering the attention of all.

"Many of you remember my and King Valentine's daughter, Clarissa."

"King Valentine, may he rest in peace," the crowd chanted somberly.

"Thank you," the Queen paused before continuing. "Please raise your glasses in celebration of my daughter's eighteenth birthday."

Clary waved politely down at them and smiled as they raised their glasses in salute. She had to admit that everything was going pretty well before she flung her wrist too swiftly, causing her bracelet to fly off. Thankfully, one of the guards had caught the spinning contraption and handed it back. Her cheeks flushed pink as she descended the staircase.  
How embarrassing, she thought. She would kill Izzy if she ended up tripping down the stairs.

The party was normal so far, if not on the bland side. She paid her respects by talking to the diplomats, politicians and the Clave members, Idris' government. They all said the same things, "good to see you again, Clarissa" or "nice for you to be back, Clarissa". She had wanted to snap on more than one occasion, to shout "it's Clary!" yet she knew that wasn't the right decision.

Screw the right decision.

She took a spoon off one of the tables and dug it into the icing of a beautifully decorated cake, not in the slightest bit guilty. She'd managed to sneak another small spoonful when she heard a voice.

"I saw that," they taunted jokingly. She knew that voice anywhere.

"Magnus!" she squealed, throwing her arms around the man she hadn't seen in years. He was another one of the noble's sons that often frequented the castle when she was younger. She'd always loved the older boy, even though he'd endlessly launched bags of sparkles into the air, always ending up embedded into her frizzy hair.

He hugged her back equally as hard. When she pulled away, she noticed how much he'd changed. Yet his obsession with glitter was eternal. Shiny gold powder adorned his eyelids and his eyes glimmered in the artificial light, appearing like cat slits.

"It's been too long, Biscuit. Walk with me," he exclaimed, using the old nickname that she'd always admired. He grabbed her hand and weaved them through the huddles of people.

"What's up, Mags?"

"Oh, just partying, girl, you know-" Clary came to a stop as Magnus accidentally dragged her into a body, her foot slammed onto someone's shoe. The person bent forwards and the two knocked heads. The man groaned and stood up straight.

"Oh, your foot! I'm sorry-" her voice halted when she looked at the incredibly handsome stranger. She couldn't stop staring into his eyes, which were golden and warm like the sun. He was tall, broad and muscular yet lean, with curly hair, gold like his eyes. An angel, if she ever saw one. She would have kept staring if it wasn't for Magnus, who elbowed her discretely in the side.

"Are you alright?" She asked dumbly. Of course, he isn't alright, I stomped all over his toes!

The man bowed slightly, "I'll survive, your Highness. I must admit, your foot isn't all that heavy."

Clary blushed of embarrassment for what felt like the millionth time this evening. She smiled apologetically, "are you sure you don't want to exchange licenses and proof of insurance?"

"These shoes were a little too big anyway; the swelling will help them fit better."

Magnus tugged on Clary's arm, indicating he was ready to move on. "Come on, Biscuit. You haven't even started dancing yet," he gently reminded.

Clary excused herself and let Magnus weaves her through the crowd once more. She found herself wondering if she'd see that boy again.

"Now, Clare, I need to rendezvous with a few nobles, but I'll find you later for a dance?"

She nodded absentmindedly, "sure, Mags, I'll start dancing. I see my mother giving me a look."

In a whiff of glitter, he disappeared as fast as he'd appeared. She sighed, her feet already aching. How she'd dance with every eligible man in Idris, she didn't know.

*****

It was a tradition that on a princess's eighteenth birthday, she must dance with every eligible man at her ball in hopes of finding a suitor. It was an old-time law, but her country didn't like the idea of change much. She was quickly approached by a boy, then another, and another. She was whisked away by suitors mostly her age yet some younger, some older. She was endlessly stepped on, jostled around and struck by language barriers that she was ashamed she couldn't cross. 

The worst was so far had been a thin, lanky man who was definitely into Broadway. He spun her around in circles until she was dazed and dropped into the splits after the song ended. She had danced with Magnus too, which was a nice break. She learned that Magnus was dating Alec Lightwood in secret, but since they weren't technically public yet, Magnus was supposed to dance with Clary. She understood why they weren't out yet; the country of Idris was very conservative the last she'd known. Her dance with Alec Lightwood was rather pleasant too, if not a bit awkward. They'd never been as close as she was with his sister, but she still remembered admiring him greatly when they were younger: him always protecting the two of them and occasionally giving in to their requests for tea parties.

She wished she was still with one of those two men. She was currently dancing with another man who kept dipping their linked hands very deeply to the side.

"It looks like he's trying to land a plane!" Magnus commented, exasperated at this fact to a cackling Izzy. He had dipped Clary again so low that her crown almost dropped when someone else appeared.

"May I cut in?" He inquired. Clary, still hazy from her last dance, looked up to see the man who'd she'd stepped on earlier.

"Your timing is impeccable. Thank you." She tried not to pay attention to the way his arms wrapped around her waist, and how her hand felt against his. Stay calm, Clary, you don't even know who he is.

"You're welcome, Princess Clarissa." He guided her gracefully across the ballroom, swaying in time with the music. She caught glimpses of Magnus pointing over to her while mentioning something to a wide-eyed Izzy.

"Clary, I like to go by Clary."

"Alright, Clary." The way he said her name was like music to her ears. She had never liked her name more. He had an air of confidence to him that intrigued Clary. She studied his features. He looked familiar, yet she couldn't quite place him. Perhaps his parents had visited the castle along with him once.

"And you are?" She wondered aloud. She was never good at puzzles, she had to admit. She'd rather know the answer rather than figure it out after hours later.

"That wouldn't be a mystery, now would it?" He smirked when she visibly frowned.

"I see my clumsiness hasn't affected your dancing. I'm sorry I stepped on your foot," she said truthfully. A strand of curly blond fell out of place and she felt a slight urge to tuck it back yet decided against it.

"You can step on my foot anytime," he grinned as the music ended. Clary was about to respond when her mother called, "Clary, Darling, the Lovelaces are here."

Clary felt a wash of excitement and disappointment overcame her. She would see Simon for the first time in so long, yet she didn't want to leave the stranger in front of her. She curtsied politely, "I hope to see you again... Golden Boy."

One eyebrow rose at the newly made nickname. She found herself instantly jealous since she'd always tried and failed to master that small gesture.

"You decided to not reveal your name, so I made one for you. Bye now," she teased. She then turned to leave him on the dance floor, smirking to herself.

While she made her way to Simon, a tray grazed over her head, knocking her crown off. The waiter apologized profusely as she kept assuring him, "it's okay!"

An older man who she recognized as Viscount Herondale had gotten there in time to catch the crown before it fell to the ground, swooping it so that it sat on top of Clary's head once more.

"You better be careful with that thing, wouldn't want anyone snatching it," he chuckled as Clary adjusted the crown so that it sat straight.

"Oh, I hope not!" Clary joked along.

"Like me," the man muttered, unbeknownst to Clary or any of the other guests. No, this scheme wasn't to be revealed yet. It was only known between him and his son...

"Clary!" Simon called, making his way over, stumbling into people who cursed loudly at him and his clumsiness.

"Goodbye, Viscount Herondale...?"

He nodded politely, "what a good memory you have, Princess."

Clary wrapped her friend in a long hug. She sighed; life was the way it should've been. "What's this I hear about you being too chicken to ask out Izzy?"

He rolled his eyes jokingly. Sarcastically, he replied, "I missed you too, Clare."

Clary looped her arm with her friend's and dragged him over to the food table, ordering him to tell her all the details. The rest of the night she got reacquainted with them all, hearing stories of their teen years that she missed out on and exchanging ones of her own. She went to bed that night blissfully happy, if not somewhat bruised. She was exhausted and sleep succumbed quickly. She made a mental note to draw the image that was captured in her mind; all her friends gathered around in fancy get-ups and chatting like she'd never left. She wondered what the palace would have in store for her tomorrow...


	2. The Devil Arrives at the Castle

Clary woke when the curtains to her room were brutally ripped open. Hot sunlight poured into the cracks and crevices of the room, lighting every available surface.

"Rise and shine, princess!" an unfamiliar voice with a thick Idrisian accent squealed as they shuffled around the room.

Clary groaned in frustration and threw her pillow in the general direction of the noise. "Who are you?" she wondered aloud, as she buried herself deeper into the covers. She had never been a morning person, always preferring to stay in late and worry about what to do later.

"I'm Brigitta; your maid, miss. Helaena is just getting your breakfast for you down in the kitchen," the ever so chipper voice responded.

Clary sighed, knowing she wouldn't be going back to sleep anytime soon. She sat up; stretching her limbs like a cat and saw a petite, blonde girl running around the room. Her hair was in an intricate braid, pinned atop her head with multiple clips and she was wearing a light blue, apron dress.

"I'm sorry I threw my pillow at you."

Brigitta paused from her scurrying to give the princess a smile. "No worries miss. Your coordination isn't up to par, if I may add. The pillow missed me by a few feet," she joked.

Another woman with strawberry blonde hair cut in a choppy bob came in carrying a tray. Clary's mouth watered at the sight of the thinly sliced bread, fried eggs, and crisp bacon. 

"Thank you," she murmured before digging in. It was only until she'd finished an egg and two slices of bread before she looked up to see her maids standing patiently at the door. She wanted to smack herself for forgetting.

"I'm sorry you two," she said regretfully. "You may be dismissed. Go have breakfast, please." The two nodded and they were gone before Clary could have another bite.

*****

After Clary had completed her breakfast, she took it upon herself to re-explore the castle she'd once called home. Her mother's secretary had told her that the queen would be in session with the Clave for the morning and was not to be disturbed, though she wanted to meet in the throne room in an hour to discuss something. Clary wondered what it could be. Clary was about to search for Isabelle when she remembered that the girl had returned with her family for the night, back to their manor.

Clary took in every detail of the halls with her artist's eye. The nooks and crannies she'd once known as the back of her hand seemed foreign and strange. She knew it'd be a while for her to re-discover them all. The architecture was absolutely beautiful; it was a shame that the buildings in America hadn't been constructed like-so. Gothic pillars held its ceilings, roses and rayed suns carved into the footings. The walls were lined with paintings that no doubt her mother had created during her absence, for she recognized none of the actual paintings, but her mother's handiwork itself. She arrived at the end of a hall filled with knight's armour. Thinking it was a dead end, she was about to turn back until her eye caught something peculiar.

It was a golden goddess figure who stood on a pedestal, brandishing two blades and had a mischievous glint in her eyes. It reminded her vaguely of the statuette of the Indian goddess, Kali, which Luke had while in America. Clary ran her fingers over the gold gingerly, admiring the curves and bends. Her hand jerked away when the figurine snapped back, and a piece of artwork swung open like a door. Maybe she hadn't known the castle as well as she'd thought after all. She peered around as a cautionary measure, making sure no one would follow before she stepped inside.

The air was damp and humid; the musky stench was enough to make her gag on impact. It was clear that these halls were long forgotten. They may have been used as secret passages during the time of rebellion during Idris, to keep the royalty safe from the rebel group, The Circle's, attacks. She didn't know much about them since her mother was so persistent for her tutor to skip over that period of history. Yet, she had heard recent rumours that the people of Idris were stirring, wanting change. The Fairchild line had been on the throne for far too long, they said.

She was brought down when the laces of her green sneakers got wedged into the splinters of the wood. She cursed as she tumbled onto the floor, getting scrapes on her hands. Clary was about to brush herself off as though nothing had happened- it wasn't like anyone else was around to testify-when she heard voices. Clear and pristine, echoing around her. It was then she realized a small vent in the wall lead to the boardroom. She had never been allowed to step foot into such areas.

"You're too young, Clare Bear," her brother would constantly remind her.

She crouched down in a very unladylike manner and peered through the opening into the room. She mostly saw the feet of old, noblemen and members of the Clave. Their black shoes all the same and squeaky clean. She strained to hear what they were discussing.

"The Clave of Idris is now in session, Prime Minister Starkweather presiding..."

A man with slick black hair with splattered grey streaks and round glasses sat in his seat front and center in the court-like room. He smashed the gavel and spoke, "Viscount Herondale, you have the floor."

The viscount she'd spoken to the previous night stood. He was tall, broad shoulders and striking golden blonde locks. He reminded her of someone, she instantly recognized, yet who? His robes were immaculately kept, not a wrinkle on the entirety of them and his eyes calculated the room with an air of superiority. Whatever he had to say, was ought to be beneficial to his behalf.

"As we all know, the 18th birthday of the heir to the royal bloodline is indeed a great deal of significance. It signifies that this young person is eligible to assume the throne."  
The room nodded and murmured their responses. Clary held in a gasp as she realized that they were talking about her! She snapped her eyes to Prime Minister Starkweather as he let out an exasperated sigh.

"We are all aware of this, Viscount," he shook his head slightly as if it had been the millionth time mentioning this. "The Queen has already stated that the Princess intends to learn more at her side before assuming the throne." Clary saw her mother give the viscount a tired look.

She faced the viscount once more, whose eyes seemed to flicker before continuing, a slight smile bestowed upon his lips. "It was not Princess Clarissa to whom I was referring."  
Clary's face contorted into one of confusion. Her brows were knit together, and her lips turned to a frown. She found her mother with the same expression. The queen was as clueless as she was.

The man knew he held all the power. It was so clearly in the palm of his hands. He ambled around the room, looking at each of the confused faces of his colleagues. He held their attention, so he gave them suspense.

"As of the 18th of January, this year," he started. "Another heir to the bloodline of Idris was eligible to assume the crown."

Clary's eyes shot wide open. It felt as though all the air was sucked from her lungs and she was a fish out of water. This was preposterous! How dare he?

The man now faced the impatient looking queen. He took pleasure in watching her squirm under his stern gaze. Knowing how much it would frustrate her, he smiled. Teeth barring like a vicious alpha wolf, ready to attack its prey. "My son, Lord Jace," he said.

Jace, as in Izzy's brother, Jace? Her mind screamed. He had always had it out for her, but this crossed the ultimate line.

A collection of gasps rang through the room. The Clave muttered their curses and prayed to their Angel Raziel for a miracle that would save them from the hot water the viscount was so determined to drown them in.

"I beg your pardon?" The queen was furious. She had risen from her chair, gripping at the table with her mama bear claws. Her eyes glowed as red as the hair atop her head and she gritted her teeth together so hard the entire council could hear.

"I am pleased to say that my son, Lord Jace, is ready to take the crown."

"Shut up!" The queen exclaimed. She covered her mouth as soon as the words escaped, no doubt trying to think of an excuse as the viscount's smile turned into a scowl.

"Shut up, doesn't always mean, well... 'Shut up!'" The prime minister jumped into the queen's aid. Him rambling on about the various meanings like 'gee whiz' or 'by the Angel'. Clary had zoned out long ago. Her vision blurred.

"Isn't Princess Clarissa first in line to ascend the throne?" someone piped up.

The crowd murmured in agreement. "Not yet," someone else exclaimed. Clary tried to glare holes into the back of the man's head yet to no avail. "The Law states that a princess must marry in order to become queen."

Marry? Clary wondered. She just graduated high school and they wanted her to get married?

"We have never enforced that Law!" The queen raged. To say she was furious was an understatement. "A man mustn't marry to become king. It's the 21st century for angel's sake."

The oldest member of the Clave rose, and the room was hushed silent. He was respected by many and whatever he said goes. His face was wrinkled with age, yet his eyes held wisdom that many would never have the chance to experience. "This has been the Law in Idris for the past 300 years. And to be quite frank, my queen, many of us are unsure the princess is the most suitable choice to govern our great nation."

"That is a load of bullshit," Clary growled under her breath. If she could shoot fire with her eyes, she would.

The prime minister stood once more with a bargain on the princess's behalf. "I say, we give the princess one year during which time she finds a suitable man to marry-"

He was cut off by angry council members, who burst out their own opinions as if they mattered. 100 days... 60 days. Clary flinched as the number slowly dropped lower and lower.

"Thirty days!" The elder proclaimed, and that was that. Not wanting to hear anymore, Clary stormed out of the hallway and burst into the throne room, leaving a trail of wet tears behind her. She knew her mother would have an explanation soon.

*****

Clary paced back and forth in front of her mother; her words barely audible as she rambled her thoughts out.

"How could the Clave expect me to fall in love in 30 days? It's like they want me to agree to an arranged marriage or something..." she trailed off as the reality sunk in. Her mother rested a hand on her daughter's shoulder. Clary faced her mother and saw the sadness sunk within her emerald orbs.

"That's it. They want me to agree to an arranged marriage. Who would agree to something like that?" She shouted; her voice trailing off once more as another reality sunk in. "You did, mom," she laughed nervously.

The queen bowed her head and gave her a small smile. "Your father was a good man; he was my best friend. We grew quite fond of each other. Not all arranged marriages end so terribly."

Clary sucked the bottom of her lip before proceeding. "But that's it, mom. I don't want fondness. I want a chance to love someone."

"You have a choice, Clary." The puzzled look on her face led the queen to continue her thoughts. "You don't have to be a queen."

Clary ran a hand through her curls in an impossible attempt to tame them. "This is so unfair," she whispered.

Clary gazed around the throne room, her eyes landing on a portrait of the most recent royal family. She smiled at her father looking down upon her. White blonde hair and a deep-set smile, mimicking her brother's features. In the photo, Valentine sat on the throne. A bejewelled crown rested in the sea of white hair. Her mother stood beside him, her hand resting against his shoulder delicately. A six-year-old version of herself was sat in his lap, red curls going haywire and tickling his chin. Her brother stood on the other side of the throne, his head leaning against his baby sister and a protective hand around her small frame. She always loved that picture; less traditional than the other portraits painted of the royal families, however better, more sentimental.

She shook her head profusely. She wiped the dried tears from her face and cursed herself for the momentary weakness. She was determined. "There are five hundred and fifty years of Fairchilds on these walls, and I intend to be up there next to my parents. For Jonathan, who couldn't himself."

*****

Viscount Herondale strolled through the living room, a shot of whiskey in hand. The meeting had gone quite splendidly today. His boy would be on the throne in no time at all.  
"You, my boy, are a true born Idrisian," the viscount grinned. He regarded the son he'd groomed so well since his wife's passing.

His son shared the same glint in his eyes. The same air of confidence and the same smirk as he nodded, "I agree. But how can we make it happen?"

The Viscount took the darts from his son's hands and made his way slowly towards the board. "Let me show you a trick I learned from an old philosopher, Jonathan Shadowhunter. It is guaranteed to help you hit the bullseye every time."

The direction Jace's father was heading was unclear until his father let out some type of battle cry. The man ran towards the darts board and lodged one dead center.

"Yes," Jace exclaimed, as he un-lodged the dart and handed it back to his father. "But that is cheating."

He watched as his father grinned wickedly. The corners of his mouth upturned in such a way that Jace had never seen before and wasn't sure he liked.  
"Precisely."

*****

"Lord Jace has arrived, with that snake of a father," Luke informed Jocelyn as she was headed down the staircase.

"Behave," she reprimanded sternly, yet he knew she was joking when a small smile displayed across her lips. "I want everyone to be on their best behaviour."

She met her daughter at the bottom of the steps and kissed both her cheeks. "Clary, darling, you look wonderful. Very appropriate for meeting the viscount and his son."  
Clary groaned as her mother fussed over her, straightening the pink blazer and matching skirt she was wearing.

"I can't believe the Clave invited the man who's trying to steal the throne to stay at the palace with us!" Clary huffed in frustration. She turned to a nearby mirror to put on her earrings while her mother fixed her hair.

"Oh, the Clave didn't invite him, I did," her mother shrugged nonchalantly and walked away.

"It was you?" Clary started her rampage, running to have to catch up with her mother. Her mother had always been willowy and tall, whereas Clary found herself short and cute. At eighteen, you were supposed to be beautiful, not cute as a button, which Isabelle had referred to her the other night.

"I offered to hang him by his toes in the front courtyard," Luke grumbled as he came around the corner with a peach-coloured coat, which he helped Jocelyn into.

Clary raised her eyebrows and motioned at Luke, "I like his suggestion. What about Luke's suggestion!"

"If there's any funny business," Jocelyn explained, "I want it right in front of my nose."

"I so don't want to be nice to this guy, you know? When we were ten, he was rude, self-centred, and arrogant-" Clary was more than ready to list twenty more adjectives that could perfectly describe the kid she'd once known when Jocelyn rolled her eyes at her daughter and out a stop to her rambling.

"Well, have you seen him since you were ten?" Jocelyn questioned.

Clary thought for a moment before responding reluctantly, "well, no. Not since his mother died."

"Me neither."

The conversation was halted for a moment in memory of Céline Herondale, who Clary had always liked.

"But out of nowhere, he just wants to be king of Idris?" Clary wondered. She spread her arms out and gave an incredulous look at her mother. "What is that about?"

The queen sighed at the dramatic antics of her daughter. She took Clary's hands and brought her to a luxurious sofa where they both sat. Clary relaxed into the plush cushions and took a deep breath, something she hadn't realized she needed.

"We will be charm itself. Nothing less than grace and poise. We'll show the people of Idris who deserves to be queen."

The two women locked emerald eyes and Clary knew instantly that she couldn't let her mother down. For the sake of her mother, her father and Jonathan, she would become queen. No one would stand in her way.

"Presenting Viscount Herondale and his son, Lord Jace."

Clary's head spun towards the doors as they opened, revealing the clean kept man she'd seen that morning in the boardroom. It took every ounce of fibre in her to keep from running towards him and spitting on his shoes. Her mother dragged her over towards them, despite her refusals. It was then she saw Jace. Her eyes widened with shock. She ripped her wrist out of her mother's grasp and her body went still.

It. Was. Him.

It was the mystery guy from the other night. His hair was slicked back with some kind of gel, and he wore an immaculate suit; black as midnight and tailored to the Angels. Her eyes wandered over his body, betraying her mind. She couldn't help but stare at his beautiful honey curls, chiselled jaw and sharp features, and the golden orbs she'd found herself gazing at more than once the night before. She noticed that his eyes were scanning over her as well, and she wasn't sure whether to be flattered or disgusted.  
He was effortlessly gorgeous she had to admit, whether Clary liked it or not. She didn't... by the way.

Just because he was insanely attractive, didn't mean she had to like him, Clary had decided.

Pretty boys were always distracting, and arrogant, she found. They reeked of self-confidence and she had no doubt they'd break your heart in an instant if they pleased.

The queen gestured to Clary, who stood beside her shell shocked. "May I present my daughter, Clary."

The queen was finished exchanging niceties and had discreetly nudged Clary to do the same. She reluctantly let out her hand towards Jace.

"It is quite the pleasure having you stay at the palace, Lord Jace," Clary said in a courteous manner that she couldn't tell was sincere or not. To be honest, she wasn't sure her feelings of him staying at the palace; always around.

The sardonic young devil kissed the back of her hand, a pleasant burning sensation etched into her skin by his soft lips. "The pleasure is all mine."

She couldn't quite pinpoint what had thrown her over the ledge. Maybe it was the way his lips rose into a smirk or every fibre of her being remembering his behaviours when they were young. All she knew was a dirty little plan had clicked, and her etiquette was carelessly thrown out the window like an old rag.

Clary refused to meet Jace's eyes. She clicked her tongue while her eyes wandered to every possible surface except for Jace. "Clary..." her mother said sternly.

Clary blinked multiple times before her trance was broken. She painted on a fake smile that she knew she'd become accustomed to soon enough and stepped toward the boy she hadn't seen in eight years.

"Why, Lord Jace, it's been too long. Hasn't it?"

Before she could reason with herself, she jabbed her heel into his foot, satisfied when she heard him groan in agony on the behalf of her kitten heels.

"She seems to make it a habit of stepping on my toes," Jace gritted his teeth while reassuring the staff with a painful smile as they rushed to his aid. 

Clary didn't hear any more as she stomped away from the scene, her mother would be chasing after her soon and she needed to make her exit quick. The last thing she heard was Jace grunting and refusing help as he hobbled out of the entryway.

*****

"Way to go, Biscuit!" Magnus cheered as Clary retold her side of the events that had occurred a few hours earlier. Magnus lounged on a tawny cushioned love seat; settle back as if he owned the place. His sparkly blue vest paired well with his matching blue eye shadow, his hair unruly and swayed from side to side.

His eyes hinted utter amusement, as he re-imagined what his friend voiced. Sapphire glitter was shaken off his clothes as he laughed, the vibrations sending them spiralling through the air. She knew they were now permanently embedded into the furniture. She wondered how Magnus's maids kept up with him. They must've concocted a special glitter remover...

"I don't know, my mother was pretty pissed," Clary recalled. She tried to keep her jitters at bay by biting her lip and twiddling her thumbs back and forth.

Magnus snorted. At least he was enjoying himself. "Not as pissed as Viscount Herondale, I hear. The maids claim they could hear him rambling up a storm all the way from the kitchen, on the other side of the castle!"

Clary flopped onto her plush bed with a groan. Regret pooled into her veins as she mentally smacked herself. "This will make life more bearable, that's for sure," she grumbled, sarcastically.

"Don't feel bad, Clare. Remember that he's your competition now. A Herondale hasn't been on the throne in over six hundred years. What right does he have to the throne, anyway?"

"Agreed."

Izzy entered with a grand entrance, per usual. Clary expected nothing less as she carelessly swung open the double doors and pranced inside, looking as gorgeous as ever: tall and slim, with slick, ink-black hair that flowed down her back like a river of dark poison. Her makeup was effortlessly done, and her pale long sleeve pink top made her look delicate, whereas her skirt contrasted with a slit that slid up her thigh. She made her way over to the princess and plopped down onto her stomach, and her face was inches from Clary's.

"Isabelle-" Clary was more than ready to stumble out apologies when Izzy shushed her. No hint of malice was hidden in her golden flecked eyes. If not peered into in direct sunlight, her eyes would resemble the sea of black that fell from her head.

"Jace may be like a brother to me, but that's no excuse for what they're doing to you. Viscount Herondale had developed a bone for evil when his wife had died. Céline dying was unexpected and tragic, I understand. But it's no excuse for the viscount's behaviour and Jace following him around like a blind puppy dog is not any better."

Izzy readjusted herself so that she lay on her side now, her arms bent and her head resting against her hand.

Clary mimicked her position; lay on her side opposite from Izzy. If the two hadn't looked so different, Magnus would've thought he'd been staring at a mirror.  
"What do I do then, Iz?"

This was what prompted Magnus to rise from his chair and stand before the two girls. It may not be the most favourable conclusion, but it was better than that Herondale on the throne. He may have promised to Alec to try and get to know Jace, but this was his little secret. His friend was in need, and he couldn't deny his princess.

"You have thirty days to marry. The Viscount doesn't believe you'll go through with it."

Clary nodded her head in agreement, willpower behind her eyes so strong that Magnus had seen only once before. Jonathan.

"I can't let my mother down. But I've never been in love! I mean sure, I dated a guy or two in high school, but I would hardly call that love. Who could I possibly choose to spend the rest of my life with?" She looked to Magnus for answers, and answers he supplied.

"I've got it all figured out, Princess." He smoothed the frizzy red hair atop her head until it looked somewhat presentable again. He took Clary's hand and jerked her up, earning a mangled noise of surprise. He did the same to Isabelle, who was more prepared than Clary. With the two girls in tow, he hauled them out of Clary's chambers.

"Let's go find this Biscuit a husband."


	3. Matchmaker, Matchmaker

The room was dimly lit; the only light casting from an ancient-looking projector Izzy had managed to scrounge up; illuminating the chambers with a whitish glow. The room now resembled a movie theatre. Recliner chairs and la-z-boys were arranged in a row, all decked with fuzzy gray blankets that were silky to the touch, and dozens of warm-toned throw pillows. Clary was still clueless as to what her two friends had planned-they'd parted ways a couple of hours earlier to plan. She did have a hunch as to what it was about, and she couldn't say she was excited.

Simon was seated in a warm brown la-z boy, clad in a dusty gray Star Wars shirt that had two lightsabers crossing each other-one blue and one red-with the quote in large white font 'May the Force Be With You'. She'd led Simon to his discovery of Star Wars a few months after she'd moved to America. It was safe to say that Idris was a little behind times because Simon was flabbergasted at the thought of not seeing the movies sooner. It was a thing they shared, and she was grateful for it. Even if no one in the country understood the odd catchphrases his t-shirts displayed except for her.

Clary plopped down into the seat next to Simon and gave him a quizzical look- who was too busy shoving his face with cheddar popcorn to notice- as Isabelle and Magnus came into the room followed by the Queen. He noticed her curiosity after the entrance of his girlfriend, and just shrugged as the queen offered the same look of uncertainty. Magnus chose to sit beside Clary in a leather reclining chair, though it was set all the way up and the Queen opted for an armchair a little way to the left of Simon. Once Isabelle was satisfied with the level of attention she was receiving from her audience, she sat down in a big chair and curled into a blanket. She clicked a large button on a remote she held and waited patiently as a slideshow gradually appeared.

"I have gathered with the help of Mags, a list of eligible bachelors suitable for-" Isabelle barely had a chance to explain before Clary cut in, dismayed.

"How do I choose who I want to marry after looking at a slideshow? Researching someone and who they really are is totally different."

Magnus placed his hand gently on her shoulder and gave it a small, reassuring squeeze. "Izzy's not asking you to choose the first guy that'll pop onto the screen. One date couldn't hurt though, right Darling?" His deep voice was assuring, and she willed herself to calm down. She took a deep breath and sighed, before quieting down.

"You're right, M. Thanks for putting this together, Iz."

Isabelle winked her eye at the princess- which sparkled even in the darkness, with only the illuminated screen as light. Clary reached over to grab some popcorn from Simon's bag against his protests and settled back as the stream of guys flooded the screen.

"Baron Sebastian Verlac."

A devilishly attractive man appeared on-screen, with striking black eyes and hair to match. He wore a conceited grin that reminded Clary all too much of Herondale, and a tailored suit paired with a deep red tie. His head was slightly tilted to the right, and his eyebrow was raised as if challengingly.

"He's..." she paused, searching for the right word to describe such a man, "decent." She pondered his picture while reading the information to the left. He was roughly her age, and his credentials seemed good. Graduated near the top of his class and his looks were a plus.

"No, no," her mother protested. "He's got a history of violence and he's a suspect in numerous murder charges. Definitely not appropriate."

Clary and Izzy both shuddered before Isabelle flicked the slideshow to the next option.

"Oh yes, absolutely yes!" Clary cried as the face of Prince William popped up. His smile showed his pearly whites and his blue suit was perfectly tailored and contrasted with his blonde hair.

"Sorry, Clare, but he's not eligible. He's in line for his own throne," Isabelle delivered sadly, before turning her attention back to the beauty on-screen. Clary pouted in protest.

"Why was he included then?" Simon wondered, now seemingly bored because his stash of popcorn had run low. Magnus sighed and stared dreamingly at the image, which Clary, Isabelle and even Jocelyn couldn't help but reciprocate. "He's just so great to look at."

The next photo was of a thin, lanky man and showed his whole portrait, whereas the others were from the torso up. He stood in a beautifully lush golf course, with a club swung over his shoulder.

"He seems nice," Clary interjected, seeing as Isabelle was about to skip over him.

"Raphael Santiago of Spain. No title, but good family," her mother agreed. Clary couldn't find anything wrong with him; maybe he would be worth a try.  
Simon gave the image a once over before turning to Clary, his interest peaked, "What about the title of Husband?"

Isabelle jerked her head towards Clary. "Yeah!" She said enthusiastically, "He seems cute." This earned a small glare on Simon’s behalf.

Just as her hopes were raised, they were shot down by Magnus. "His boyfriend seems to think so as well."

"Right on," she murmured. The room was starting to heat up, and Clary used her hand as a fan before she took the elastic from her wrist and threw a messy bun atop her head.  
"No matter," her mother waved a hand without looking away from the screen as if entranced. "Put him on all the invitation lists for parties, he's a divine dancer."

She sighed when the next few men all had something that she wasn't sure of. They were too old, too young, or just weren't a suitable choice to run a country. And if not something wrong to her, then certainly her mother and friends had something to say in the matter.

Her mother had risen from her chair to pace around the room and ran a hand through her fiery locks. "We need someone to help you run a country without ego getting in the way. Someone attractive, smart but not arrogant. Someone with..." Jocelyn paused behind Clary's chair and tapped her fingers on the armrest before stumbling upon a word, "compassion! Someone like-"

"Someone like him?" Clary asked, pointing at a young man in an army green corduroy jacket that was embellished with medals on the sleeves. His brown hair resembled more of a mop on his rounded head and his eyes were deep-set and smiling. Isabelle let out a squeal of delight.

"He's the one!" she gawked, pleased at the discovery of the man. "Nicholas Alderheart, Duke of Brocelind Plains. He's studying to be an anthropologist, loves photography and he served in the Royal Air Force for a while. Clary, he's great!"

"Hmm." Clary had to admit, there was nothing wrong she would decipher right off the bat. She didn't know if he'd be the one, she'd end up marrying, but it wasn't like she'd have much of a choice. The days were slowly starting to tick by and soon, they'd be gone through her fingertips if she didn't do something about it. She swallowed her pride and mustered a smile. "Alright, I guess he's the one," she concluded.

*****

Nicholas was flown over from where he'd been living in England within a day, and throughout the week, the pair had gone on multiple dates. She'd learned that he'd been raised in Idris but had moved to Britain a year ago to start his studies at Oxford, which Clary had to admit, was quite impressive. He seemed really sweet, and Clary hadn't found any faults so far.

They'd had a picnic on the beach, which would've been nice had it not been for Luke and the rest of the royal guards trailing her every step. Her mother and his parents, Lucille and Kirk, were also accompanying them a few steps back. Clary only wished for some privacy. She found it awkward getting to know a future companion while in the presence of a parent or two; if you counted Luke, as well as the whole crew of Lunch with Lydia, a popular gossiping shows in Idris. They'd eaten finger sandwiches by the brilliantly blue water, waves lapping calmly, and the salty air stung her nostrils. He'd taken pictures of her with his large Nikon camera of his, which was swung around his neck. He'd claimed that he always had that thing around, and afterwards, she'd even given him a peck on the cheek.

The other dates went similarly; him being extremely generous and caring while she tried to keep up his pace. They'd played tennis at Izzy's suggestion, which Clary inwardly groaned at since she'd never been good at sports. Her lack of athletic capability was only proved correct when she'd landed wrongly on her ankle. He'd iced her foot instead of her maids since Izzy had held them back and gave her a wink. Bond, she had mouthed.

Now, they were headed over a small bridge that had been built over a pond in the gardens. The roses were in full bloom and the air was filled with the sweetness of nectar and summer. Jace had been sitting on a bench not far away and had glanced up. Their eyes met for an instant before he rose from the bench with a sour look on his face. He stalked off, grumbling on about how he had no privacy to read his book. She sighed in frustration. She hadn't seen him much since he kept mostly to himself and they'd hardly exchanged glances. The castle was big enough; surely there was at least one decent spot where he could read his book.

Nicholas led her to a bench that was shadowed by an enormous tree, leafy with curly and wavy patterns carved in the bark. "Every marriage in my family for the past two hundred years has been an arranged one."

"Please try to talk without moving your lips as much." At his confused expression, she gestured to the gates a few yards behind her. The reporter of Lunch with Lydia and her crew stood at the gates. Lydia Branwell held a microphone in her hand, speaking animatedly to a video camera and pointed back to where Clary and Nicholas sat. "They have binoculars and cameras. Most likely live right now."

He nodded though she wasn't too sure he'd heard her. His hands trembled slightly as he took hers, "I would like to give you something."

She waved him off, though she smiled at his gesture. "There's no need, really. My birthday was last week-"

By the time she'd started talking, he'd already pulled out an object from his blue collared shirt pocket. Clary frowned at the foreign object before realizing what it was. "A film canister?" She looked up at him, expectantly.

"Why don't you just open it?" At his suggestion, she rattled the canister and heard a noise from the inside. She raised her eyebrows in surprise and dumped the contents into her hand.

It was an engagement ring. Beautifully gorgeous, glistening in the sun and nearly blinding her. What a rock, she thought in awe.

She'd never been one for jewelry, but she could get used to this. Even though her finger would no doubt be exhausted after a few seconds of having that bad boy on.  
"It belonged to my great-grandmother," he explained as she admired the exquisite details. "Passed down from generation to generation. Sort of a symbol for good luck in our family. You know how Idris likes tradition," he chuckled.

She held out the ring to him. "Do I have to put in on myself?" She prompted, and he shook his head. He glided the ring onto her finger with ease and she held his hand grasped between hers. This was the person she was going to marry. She should be ecstatic, though the only thought that ran through her mind was how pleased her mother would be. And how Idris would stay under her rule.

*****

"Father, I hate to say this... but you were wrong," Jace sauntered around the Herondale Manor's living room, after hearing the news from Alec. His father rested on the sofa before him, two fingers pressed against his right temple and his eyes furrowed in thought. "Princess Clarissa has managed to find a husband within a week."

His father raised one bushy eyebrow, slightly taken aback. He showed no other emotions, though he was feeling a little uneasy and distraught on the inside. He hadn't anticipated a move so quickly on the royal's account. He needed to be calculating, for this was no longer an amateur's game. He needed to be always planning one step ahead. The way to have power is to take it.

"Princess Clary can't possibly be happy with the idea of an arranged marriage," he concurred, which was true. The princess was stubborn and headstrong, like her mother. He remembered when Queen Jocelyn took the thrown; the only way she complied with an arranged marriage was because it was her dying father's last wish. Yet she didn't go down without a fight. And neither would her daughter. He took a good look at his son, before concluding, "Your task is to romance her."

It was Jace's turn to raise an eyebrow. A skill he'd mastered over the years and had noticed that the princess could not do, no matter how hard she'd tried. He resembled an exact replica of a young Stephen Herondale, and he wasn't sure whether that was something that pleased him or not. "Romance her?"

"Show her what a real relationship is like," his father continued, his voice rising as the idea fully developed. What a pleasant idea that was. His son was charming, albeit somewhat conceited. He's noticed all the young girls stop to gape as his son walked through the town square. Sooner or later, Clary would be the same. One of those gossiping girls who only cared for their looks and boys. "One filled with heat and passion."

Jace rolled his tawny eyes and shook his head as if the thought amused him. He sat down on the couch beside his father and faced him, "and change her mind about Nicholas?"

"Exactly," his father's expression was smug and filled with self-congratulations. His boy was his ticket to power and money, the only thoughts that clouded his mind the past eight years. The Herondales were the rightful rulers; hell, all of Idris knew it. The Fairchild line should've ended the second Jocelyn's father had died. If it weren't for her arranged marriage with Morgenstern, the Fairchild line would've ended and the Herondales-who were next in line for some godly reason- would've taken the throne. "The deadline would expire, and the throne is ours."

Jace furrowed his eyebrows at his father's eagerness. It was no secret that his father was power-driven, even when his mother was alive and well. Though he didn't understand why his father wanted the throne so desperately. "You're sure this is what Mother would have wanted?" Jace questioned, repeating the words his father had told him. The reason why this ruse had started in the first place.

"Why, of course!" His father exclaimed. "It was her dearest wish. One of the last things she'd ever said to me was: Help him, Stephen. One day, he could be King." Jace searched his face for insincerity, and after a while could find none, so he nodded reluctantly.

"I don't recall her ever mentioning it to me," he muttered in confusion, more to himself than anything. His mother always had secrets that he didn't mean to pry into, but if it had been something as big as this, surely, she would have involved him.

His father patted him on the shoulder and sighed, "Well you were only ten when she'd died. And you remember who she named you after, don't you?"

Jace was puzzled at this reasoning. Uncertainty washed over him, yet he kept his face blank. "Yes, Grandfather Jonathan," he said as if it were obvious.

"No, no, no!" his father cried, waving his hands around in protest. He rose from his seated position and marched towards a portrait of a middle-aged man with a villainous glint in his eye, which made Jace think that the man should've been stroking a white cat's furry head. It had once held a space in his father's study upstairs, yet a month ago had been relocated to rest above the black gas-burning fireplace. He pointed enthusiastically at the mahogany framed image before him, "the philosopher, Jonathan Shadowhunter. Power, my boy, means never having to say you're sorry."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews help uploads... ;)


	4. Clary Chases a Chicken

Sketch. Sketch. Sketch.

Clary nestled into one of the bottom steps of the reflecting grand staircases in the foyer, cursing the hard surface yet grateful for a chance to really draw in peace. Her fingers practically itched to redraw all of her friends, after studying their faces for the past two weeks since her return. Isabelle's stunning beauty, which Clary always knew she had. Simon's unruly curls and geeky smile. Though her focus was short-circuited, having drawn little to no inspiration in the past few days. She sighed, looking absentmindedly at the chunk of a diamond that sat on her ring finger.

Her wishes for silence were not complied when a whistle sliced through the air like a hot knife through butter, carrying a six-note melody. She glanced up and saw Jace Herondale leaning against the banister, the source of the whistling.

"Are you having second thoughts?" Jace said, toying with her. He'd picked up on toying and teasing a while ago and Clary assumed it was now his favourite hobby, messing with her head.

"On the contrary actually. Can't I admire this beautiful ring? It was Nicholas' grandmothers by the way," she shoved her hand towards Jace's face for him to see, which her mother would have scolded at, and replaced her irritated frown with a smug one.

She had risen from her seated position when Jace had arrived and was now making her way up the stairs. "You know he really is romantic..." her voice halted when Jace followed her up the few steps. She spun around to face him in surprise, before being encompassed between his two arms, which were now resting against the banister behind her.

She broke through the confines of his arms and scurried towards the other staircase across the room, "well, it was nice chatting, but I really must go see to some wedding details."

Whatever he sought her out for, he was stubborn to refuse. He began walking up the steps of the staircase she'd just left, as she was marching up her own. It was as if they were playing a game of Shadow, or big cat, little cat. He was mimicking the direction she was heading. She stopped midway, to which he did the same.

"I'm terribly sorry, but is there something I can help you with?" She demanded irritated by the conceited smirk, which had grown to him like a second skin.

"No, no. You are the one who stomped on me with your big feet while we were dancing."

Clary gasped at his statement, "I remember you recalling my feet little, which is not something I would like to discuss."

"Well, maybe I changed my mind," he said, which earned him a scoff from Clary. They glared at each other in an unspoken staring contest, each of the daring the other to blink when Clary snapped her head away and huffed, before continuing her path up the stairs in a frustrated march.

Clary was at the top of the staircase when Jace spoke next. He cut her off from walking by before she could reach the corridor.

"Fine, I danced with you. Need I remind you, it was only a minute," he said.

"It was more than a minute," Clary grumbled, refusing to meet Jace's eyes while she gazed at every other available surface.

"Okay," he agreed, which Clary was shocked by. Though he'd only agreed to disagree, "a minute and a half."

"A minute and a half of lies!" Clary snit clearly not impressed. "You didn't tell me who you were, or you were trying to steal my crown."

Jace rolled his eyes before snapping back a sarcastic remark, "Wow, I must've had a momentary lapse of good manners. Usually, I tell a girl my whole family tree within the first minute. My bad."

"Well, aren't you just..." she tried to think of a word, yet her mind blanked. She curled her fist together in aggravation as well as scrunched up her nose, before sidestepping around him and speedily walking down the hallway. She knew no doubt that Jace had followed.

"You want to know what else you were doing while doing that little lie dance of yours?" she demanded, looking back momentarily to see him run his fingers through his golden locks and laughed.

"Lie dance? What's a lie dance?"

She groaned, embarrassed again by her choice of words or lack thereof. She wanted to bash her head against the wall.

"You..." she didn't have a clue what to say, frustrated to the point of invisible steam rolling from her ears. She clutched the handle of the door to her right and swung it open, shoving him inside before closing the door after she stepped inside herself. The room was dark though she could make out the gist of her surroundings. A closet. Great. She found a light switch beside her on the wall which she flicked on.

"A lie dance is not the point. The point is-" Clary didn't have time to finish her thought.

"What is the point?" He said, as his fingers brushed lightly against her ear, moving back over her shoulder and flicking the light switch off.

The only light streamed in from the small crack at the bottom of the door, but she could make out Jace's figure within her personal space. She angrily flicked the light back on. They were children, always wanting what the other one didn't. Jace smirking and Clary huffing in protest.

"The point is that I'm on to you," she growled, pressing her pointed finger onto his chest. "Oh boy, am I on to you, and what you're trying to do."  
"And what is that exactly?" He asked innocently, though Clary knew he was far from innocent.

She leaned her face closer to his as she replied, "I think we both know exactly what you're trying to do." Her nose was basically pressed against his, and she couldn't help putting spare a glance at his lips. Though she didn't really want to so, that did she?

Before her mind acted on something stupid, the door flung open, and they jumped apart like shrapnel. One of her maids gasped and dropped a sweeping broom onto the floor. Clary's cheeks tinted pink as Helaena retrieved the broom from the ground and wheezed, nodding at them both, "I'm terribly sorry princess, Lord Jace."

"No, Helaena," Clary said desperately, as her maid closed the door after them. She'd obviously interpreted the situation wrong.

Clary turned back to Jace and cast him one last glower before flying from the closet, to which this time he didn't follow.

*****

"I'm told this Lord Jace is native to Idris," Luke reported his finding to Jocelyn as they walked through the famous hedge maze in the royal gardens; everlasting green shrubbery adorned with the roses of Idris. Early summer weather cast a wave of humidity in the air, and the queen fanned herself as they walked, questioning her choices of apparel at the time's being. "He is a gourmet cook, unlike Isabelle if I may add-" which taught him a playful glare from Jocelyn, "he plays soccer and piano, and is quite the ladies' man."  
Jocelyn had already known most of this information, seeing as she and Céline had always been close before she'd passed, though the news brought to her next had her flabbergasted, to say the least.

"She was in a closet?" The queen must've been hearing things. It sounded like her daughter was found in a closet with the Lord attempting to steal the throne. She gave Luke a quizzical look almost comical, eyes bug wide and forehead creased. He answered her fears with a simple statement.

"With him, yes."

It wasn't that Jocelyn didn't like Lord Jace; he was Céline's boy after all. She didn't appreciate how he'd been corrupted after his mother died, Stephen becoming power hungry and dragging his son with him.

"Luke, tell me honestly," she led them to a bench hidden within the confines of the tall walls of green, located beneath a pear tree. She sighed as the tree blocked off the harsh gaze of the summer's sun and she rotated towards Luke, angling her knees towards his. "Does Clary have the makings of a queen?"

He didn't even have to ponder before he had his reply, which Jocelyn smiled at. "Well she's young, but I've always believed in her, yes."

He said it with such certainty that the silliness was washed out her brain and into the rich earth. Her daughter may have been gone for the past four years, yet she was a royal Idrisian all the same. Jocelyn nodded, satisfied with his answers. This whole thing had driven words of doubt into her mind and she cursed herself for succumbing to them on occasion.

The wedding invitations have been sent out," she continued in a cheery manner, directing the conversation to lighter news. "I really do think that she and Nicholas make a fine pair."

Luke mimicked her smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Yes, yes," he patted her knee, chanting his agreement as if only to please her.

"She's very set on it you know; not giving up the crown," Jocelyn exclaimed in her defence. "That's one thing I'll give her credit for, she'd stubborn as hell."

*****

Over the next few days, Clary attended classes with her mother, where the queen groomed her as if she was grooming her prized cat, Church. She was retaught manners that she had never really used, to begin with, and had gone through a series of painful bow and arrow lessons.

It was Idrisian tradition to shoot a flaming arrow through a ceremonial hoop on the eve of a royal's coronation, symbolic for lighting their own eternal flame. And surprise surprise, Idris couldn’t give up the tradition. 

She rolled her eyes at the thought; they most likely didn't plan for a nonathletic queen to give a go at it. She'd started about three hours earlier, where she'd then nailed the instructor in the gut with her ever so pointy elbow and had shot the thing straight into a tree. After a while, she'd given up. The sun was too scorching to bear and the task at hand was one that she wasn't going to be accomplished in a day. 

It didn't make her feel any better when she'd seen Jace laughing at her from nearby. When they met eyes, she'd done the most sophisticated thing she could do- stick her tongue out at him comically and stomp away. To which he laughed harder. The short princess sticking out her tongue must've been quite a sight.

Now Clary was in her room, sketching away on some meaningless drawing of a rose, just to clear her mind from worry. She was determined to nail her archery lessons down pat. She wasn't about to look like a fool before being named queen of her country. They would take her crown away right then and there.

She may not even get the crown, to begin with, her ugly subconscious sided and she grumbled in response.

She was snapped from her reverie when an impatient knock sounded from the door. Her mother stood in full queen armour- as Jonathan called it when they were younger- her crown embellished with golden jewels, she wore expensive jewelry that laid perfectly on her sharp collarbones and a floor-length gown that stuck to every desirable crevice. Her hair was done into a low chignon, and Clary couldn't help but hope that she would be half the queen her mother was.

Her mother's gaze was stern. With eyebrows raised, she tapped her wrist impatiently at an imaginary watch, indicating Clary was late for something... but what? Clues snapped together, the date, her mother's extravagant get up. Clary's face widened as the time dawned on her.

"Mother, I'm so sorry. I lost track of time-" she was cut off by a frilly dress being thrown in her direction, which she desperately tried not to wrinkle her nose at in disgust. She had never been a frilly type of girl.

Her mother sped out of the room in a hurried frenzy and called back, "it's alright, darling. Just be down very soon."

Clary arrived in the throne room just as a crowd of people gathered in a line. The citizens of Idris were different in so many ways, yet so alike all the same. Most had ancestors from surrounding countries and spoke those languages, for Idris had no national language. There were families, old married couples and children, girls the same age as Clary. They were all gathered from far and wide to have a hearing with their queen and princess, to discuss any problem they need assistance with. It was an event to show the people they cared, which Clary hadn't attended since she was thirteen. The people of Idris would discuss something with the queen. Her mother would help in any way she could, and in return, they would bring something for the royal's table, like a cake or fruit. Clary had always enjoyed seeing her mother interact with the citizens; you could tell she really did care about her country. It was a thoughtful gesture to help them in some way, even if their problems were un-fixable.

It would have been pleasant, if not for the few noblemen sitting off to the side of the room as spectators. Among them, Stephen Herondale and his cocky son. She narrowed her eyes slightly as she saw him let out an exasperated sigh, Izzy chatting his ear off. She must admit she didn't hate the guy as much as she did before, though she would never admit that to his face. He'd take too much pride in it; smirk as if he knew it was bound to happen sometime. They'd had conversations every once and a while that wasn't entirely awful, and most of the teasing never seemed to carry much malice anymore. It was more of an annoyance than anything.

He caught her staring and had the audacity to wink at her. She whipped her head away as so he wouldn't see her cheeks burn into a blushing scarlet. It was as if he went out of his way to make her blush as much as possible, and Clary was trapped every time despite her refusals. She cursed herself for blushing too easily.

She felt a pair of eyes staring at her, and she looked over again to see if it was Jace. It wasn't. Isabelle, her dark-haired friend gave her an inquiring look, as if wondering what all that had been about. Clary shook her head with adamant dismissal. Izzy's lips curled into a smirk at her friend's stubbornness. A little crush never hurt anyone. Though Clary didn't know that yet.

Over the next half hour, the queen held hands with the citizens as they shared their stories as Clary stood beside the throne, grateful she'd worn her green converse sneakers. They were hidden behind the confines of thick, poofed out fabric, so why not be comfortable?

"We will send an adviser in the morning," Queen Jocelyn assured the man before her, taking his hands between hers and patting them. "They will assess the damage, and perhaps they can repair the well and save your farm." The man nodded in thanks and reached into his messenger back for a rounded melon.

"Here is something for your table," he offered. Jocelyn smiled and said her thanks before one of the staff members rushed the melon to a table set off to the side, now covered in bouquets of roses and organic food.

"You do this so well," Clary admired as the man walked away. "They just adore you."

"One has to be fair-" Jocelyn started the well-known mantra of her father before Clary cut in.

"And very honest, yes. I remember." Clary was pleased when a satisfied grin replaced her mother's gracious one. She had never forgotten the words of her grandfather, whom she never got the chance to meet, yet mourned his absence every year with her mother.

"If you can't help, you have to show the people you care about. Something to remember when you become queen," Jocelyn reminded her, sounding so sure. Clary was happy that her mother believed in her, which made one of them. Jocelyn brought her attention to Luke and nodded to let him know they were ready for the next person.

"Citizen Bastien Rosewood," Luke announced a heavy-set man with short blond hair parted neatly down the middle with gel and blue eyes that gave Alec a run for his money, though Magnus would most likely disagree. He wore a dark brown tweed vest which reminded Clary of a high school teacher, who practically lived in the things, and held a blanket covered basket in his hands.

"Bonjour, Madame," he greeted kindly, with a bow of the head and a jovial smile. His voice was burly and strong, laced with a thick French accent.

Clary curtsied in response, which she had done for every other citizen and he sat in the chair that was placed before the throne. Emilie, who Clary learned to be his eight-year-old daughter, had been diagnosed with an illness that the Rosewood family did not have the funding for. Jocelyn had told him it was no problem and had directed him to an adviser who was more than willing to supply a check. It wasn't something they did so often, yet he was a major supplier in harvesting crops and the royal family had more than enough money to spare.

"Merci!" He cried happily, and his eyes lit up in remembrance. He reached down to where he'd rested his basket and gently placed the hand-crafted basket into Clary's outstretched palms. She returned his grateful smile and was about to hand it off to Luke, assuming it was more baked goods until a small squawk bellowed into the throne room. It stunned the citizens, and nearly scared the living daylights out of Clary.

"May I-" she attempted to find her words and gestured for the removal of the soft, baby blue blanket which covered the basket's contents from view. The man nodded eagerly, "Bien sûr, she's my favourite!"

Clary's eyebrows knit nervously, and she hesitantly lifted the covering, wincing in preparation for what would be underneath the fleece. Staring back at her with soulless, beady eyes the shade of obsidian and an inquisitive look, was a chicken.

"Oh," she sighed in relief, she'd known it must've been some type of bird, since what else could it have been. She reached into the basket to grab hold of the bird's torso before lifting her out. "A chicken."

"Clary, don't-"her mother's protests were too late, and soon drowned out by the crying of the chicken, obviously feeling violated by Clary. 

She clutched the chicken harder, which only made the wretched thing squirm more, causing Clary to drop it onto the floor. Madness ensued, a race against time featuring the chicken and the princess. She should've known this was bound to happen; no animals had ever really liked her. She cursed and grumbled as she was sent on a wild goose chase through the room, bumping into columns and people as she tried to retain the chicken. Her face burned into blotches of red that ran up her neck all the way to her tinted ears as Viscount Herondale burst into a fit of laughter. Could things get any worse?

She spoke too soon.

Even with sneakers on, which was leverage against her opponent, she was still clumsy as ever. As she clambered down slick marble floors, she lost her footing and tumbled forward. Arms flailing and dress flying, she must've looked like a buffoon, not that she hadn't made a fool of herself already. She closed her eyes, preparing for an inevitable face plant. She could imagine the chicken laughing at her, and she was pretty sure she could hear the beast too.

Chicken-1, Clary-0.

It took her a moment to realize she was no longer falling. Her feet were who knows how far off the ground, and toned arms were wrapped securely around her body. She hesitantly opened one of her emerald eyes, and then the other. She found herself against Jace, his face inches from hers. Liquid gold flowed in place of his irises, glint with surprise and amusement all wrapped in. She gawked at the events that just occurred. Her mouth slightly parted, staring into his eyes as he gently placed her back onto the ground. She felt unstable as if her knees were about to give out. Her let go of her hips once she seemed steady enough, and Clary found herself longing, and craving, for that touch to reappear. She remained shell shocked, planted against the ground until a burst of applause sounded. People clapped and cheered as if they'd witnessed an incredible spectacle.

"Looks like you fell for me-" Jace whispered low enough for only her to hear. The usual calm and collectiveness seemed slightly wary as if he was as out of breath as she felt. "Literally."

Her heart was fluttering too fast for her to recognize how cheesy that line had been. She ducked her head to the floor, her pink ear an indication of how flushed she felt. She became very aware of the marble pattern on the floor. She frowned slightly, confused about what she felt. She raised her head to see Jace staring at her intently, and she felt even more bewildered as to why she weakened under his gaze.

"It appears I have," she murmured to herself in acknowledgement, not knowing whether or not Jace had heard, though praying he hadn't. Her heart was still pounding as though she'd run a marathon, which was physically impossible of her doing, and she was at a loss for words.

"I think you've had enough embarrassment for one day, don't you?" It was Izzy coming to her rescue, her knight in shining golden armour. Clary sighed in relief.

The room had become awkwardly silent. Izzy looped her arm through Clary's and quickly made a mad dash with her friend away from the scene of the crime, or more, the scene of mortification.

"Clary, a princess doesn't chase after chickens," Isabelle scolded mockingly as they were nearing the doorway, obviously finding amusement in her friend's humiliation.  
When Clary didn't laugh with her, she bumped her hips against hers, "oh, it wasn't so bad. Jace caught you, didn't he?" To which Izzy found more amusement, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively at Clary which granted her a snort.

They reached the grand doorway, and the clinking of Isabelle's heels against the floor, as well as the squeak of her sneakers, was drowned out by discussion and mindless chatter once more. The sessions had recovered, thank Raziel. She would hear an earful from Jocelyn later, no doubt.

The two guards situated at the entrance opened the doors with force and Izzy sharply turned the corner, whisking the two of them away without another word. She didn't have time to spare another glance at the throne room on her way out.


	5. Ithuriel is Scared of Snakes

It had been a few days since the "chicken incident" as Isabelle had dubbed it, and she was trying to avoid Jace as much as possible which wasn't hard. It seemed radio silence worked both ways. She was trying desperately to contain whatever attraction she held for him.

He was trying to steal the throne, she reminded herself.

She didn't think she could trust him, she knew she couldn't trust him. Not yet, anyway. Whatever she felt was fleeting... right? It was some small crush; the kind where her ears flushed pink and her heart did little somersaults. She'd handled her small crushes decently enough during high school, this was just the same as always. Same old Clary crushing on the same old boy. This wasn't anything special or out of the ordinary.

She'd tried spending more time with Nicholas, her fiance she kept reminding herself. She liked him. She would even go as far as to say they were friends, which was extremely important to Clary especially since they were to spend the rest of their lives together. They were friends now, but as time passed perhaps their relationship would progress too. He was passionate about photography, and when they went on walks through the garden, she could tell he had an artist's eye like her by the way he examined everything around him as if it were incredible. She wouldn't say she loved him yet, though she hoped eventually. Was there a spark? She couldn't really tell.

On Clary's agenda today... was something she wasn't the least bit excited about. She stood in her room, listening as Jocelyn explained how the event would go down. She had never seen it before, the last one being before Jocelyn was proclaimed Queen.

Reviewing the royal guard was another tradition in Idris that the people refused to let go. It was an event attended by the whole court, as well as the troops. Clary must ride sidesaddle on her horse while trying to pretend she knows a clue about the royal guard, much less reviewing them. It had become more of a customary thing as time passed, so long as she showed up and smiled that pretty smile of hers. Jocelyn had been preparing her daughter for weeks, explaining in detail. She'd chosen a deep blue, floor-length dress for her daughter to wear which contrasted beautifully with her hair.

"I can't ride sidesaddle!" Clary exclaimed exasperated. It was an extremely uncomfortable experience, one that she had become too accustomed to during her upbringing. She'd much prefer riding normally, though it wasn't seen as ladylike.

Clary stood in her room, dressed in her beautiful gown with many heavy layers and a matching sun hat, feeling ridiculous and soon to be fraught. Jocelyn began to shake her head and wave her hands around as if the idea was nonsense.

"No, no, dear. I can't even bear riding sidesaddle. It is acutely uncomfortable!" Jocelyn bent down to retrieve a slender shaped object that had been slide underneath her sofa, long and wrapped in thick cloth-like material. She delicately placed it into Clary's arms.

"This is my riding companion," Jocelyn explained, unravelling the cloth. It was woodcut slender, carved similarly to resemble the shaped curves of a human leg. At the top, was a brown leather latch.

A wooden leg?

By the cheeky look set into her mother's eyes, Clary soon figured out the purpose. A wooden leg would be concealed beneath layers of tulle and satin. She could ride regularly, and her leg would be hidden by her dress. If she attached the wooden leg onto her saddle with a riding boot, she could pull it off.

"That...is surprisingly genius, mom. Did you come up with that by yourself?"

"Oh no, it's centuries old. If you slip the latch onto the saddle, add a riding boot and drape your skirt over the leg, nobody suspects a thing!"

Her maids had helped her prepare. She sat on a wooden block that mimicked a horse, with the saddle in place as if in practice.

Nothing should go awry, they reassured.

They would help her attach the wooden leg onto the saddle, and assure that nothing was suspicious. Maybe the day wouldn't be so bad after all, she'd thought. If only her maids had been right.

*****

Viscount Herondale was up to no good.

He ambled towards a guard on duty, a little too casually. Shoulders back and free of tension, an all too joyous smile plastered on his bearded face and a hand in his pant pockets as he whistled the favourite melody of his late wife.

"Hello, young chap," the viscount greeted cheerily, though the guard became all too suspicious. He'd only been a royal guard for a year, in his late twenties with the face of someone much younger. Even after a year, he knew enough to know Stephen Herondale always had an ulterior motive.

"Viscount," the guard bowed his head lightly, not wanting to strike any deal. He was due any minute to accompany his boss, Lucian Graymark, by the princess's side as she rode on her horse.

"I recall someone mentioning that Princess Clary's horse, Ithuriel, is spooked easily by snakes," he prodded further. To anyone out of earshot, it merely seemed like a conversation between old friends. The viscount dug his hand into his gray coat pocket and brought out inconspicuously a lanky rubber snake; scaly, green, and all too real looking. "I need you to dangle this in front of her horse, no one must know it came from me."

The guard was puzzled. What importance was it to sabotage some reviewing of the royal guard? And what was it that the viscount would gain?

"It's rubber," he stated.

The viscount rolled his eyes dramatically, clearly exasperated as he snapped snidely, "you're very observant. An everyday Sherlock Holmes."

"What's in it for me?" The guard asked, ashamed that he was contemplating. He needn't know the Herondale man's ulterior motives, only his cut of the pay.

The viscount's eyes shimmered and he leaned in closer, whispering his last words very precisely for the guard to hear.

"You get nothing but my gratitude. When this all blows over, I will be King and I will be in your debt. Think what it could be like to have a King in your debt..."

The guard snatched the rubber snake into his hands without any hesitation or second thought and strode towards the princess.

*****

A fanfare of trumpets signalled her cue. Two rows of guards were lined on either side of her, all dressed in pristine black uniforms with medallions dangling from their shoulders in honour. A young guard guided the reigns of the horse as Luke walked beside her. She felt awfully silly, smiling a fake smile and nodding at the guards as she rode by on her horse. She knew very little about the tradition, and the royal guard though she knew it was a sign of gratitude and respect.

So far, her mother's trick had worked. The wooden leg was in position, and it really seemed as though she was riding sidesaddle. Maybe she could get away with it...

She felt on show, with everyone watching. It seemed as though she kept making a fool of herself in one way or another, and she was determined for smooth sailing this time around. Dozens of eyes burned holes into her dress, her skin, even her hat, like the stinging rays of the fulvous sun. She saw Isabelle, her mother, Simon, Alec, Max, Nicholas, Jace... They made eye contact for a split second, before Clary's ears started to turn pink on schedule and she diverted her gaze even though she could still feel his eyes clearly on her. Her spine tingled and she shook herself. Not the time.

She was almost at the end of the lines of guards before something went wrong. Her horse gave a restless whiny, followed by a scared cry. Clary was confused as to what was going on, why was her horse acting out all of a sudden?

She saw a slithery green snake on the pebbles below and realized she was done for. Her horse hated those slimy bastards with such a passion she didn't think possible for an animal.

She clutched to the leather reins tighter as her horse rose onto his hind legs, neighing in fright before returning to the ground and viciously stomping his hooves. Clary tried to calm Ithuriel by patting his silky neck, but to no avail.

"Clary, take my hand," Luke attempted to lift Clary from the horse, and in doing so, ripping the wooden leg from its place on the saddle.

Clary's face reddened crimson red and she gasped, "Luke!" His face blanched at the realization of what he'd done, the humiliation he'd put her in on accident. "Clary..."

She couldn't hear the rest of his sentence. The sound of laughter was deafening and roared in her ears. It was the only thing she could hear. The menacing laughter, taunting her, reminding her that this would be a regular thing when she became queen. If...

On instinct to protect herself from any more embarrassment, she flicked her wrists down, and the reins urged the horse to gallop. She heard her mother call after her, but all she focused on was the gaining speed of her horse and the tears in the back of her eyes threatening to spill.

*****

Stephen Herondale cackled as Clary's horse rode off towards the stables, and Jace knew his laughter was more than those of amusement. He had orchestrated it.

"Father..." Jace said, voice stern and clearly lacking playfulness.

"Oh, come on, Jonathan! Surely you thought it was the least bit humouring," his father chided a reaction, which Jace was ashamed to give into.

"Maybe a little..." Jace admitted, sending his father into another set of wicked laughter.

"Though I thought you said that Herondales weren't cheaters."

The father sobered at his son's challenging, and couldn't help but think he'd raised his son well.

"Don't you recall we were to go at this Jonathan Shadowhunter's way, a little cheating never hurt anyone..." Which Jace knew was a hundred percent inaccurate, regarding the young princess who'd fled the scene just before.

"I just thought we should win fairly, with everyone's dignity intact," Jace said through gritted teeth, annoyed at his father's childish behaviour, though his eyes displayed a hesitant gaze.

Stephen paused, his humour lowering and he straightened his posture while clearing his throat. The viscount clearly wasn't pleased with his son's reaction.

"Don't tell me you're going soft, boy," Stephen was strict, and always had been. His way or the highway.

"No, but-" Jace began warily, though his father silenced him with one glade.

"No but's, Jonathan." The viscount looked across the field where Clary's horse had disappeared moments before, eyes squinting from the sun's bright glare and emotionless. The crown was so close he could feel it atop his golden-haired head.

It was his. He knew it.

"We've already passed the point of no return."

Jace sighed, rising from his seat with the other nobles-who seemed to be at every small event held by the castle. His father had always been dramatic. He knew his father would no doubt start causing a ruckus in front of the other nobility, though he didn't seem to give a crap. He was across the stone trail where the horse had previously taken off when his father called out in outrage.

"Jonathan, get back here my boy. Jonathan!"

Jace ignored his father as he walked off to the stables in search of Clary.


	6. Those Pesky Details

The stables were quiet. The horses, ranging from palomino stallions to spotted appaloosas, munched contently on the hay stacked high for them, and the workers kept to themselves. Clary was thankful for that as she rushed into the stables, where she dismounted her horse and took a long breather. Once the rise of her chest steadied from the furious frenzy, the humiliation tried to creep its way back inside. 

She looked around the stalls for a pick, wanting to occupy her mind by cleaning her horse's hooves or maybe brushing his beautiful coat. Even that was disrupted as a stable boy came to take her horse's reins. She wanted to protest, but no words came out. She didn't know if she could manage to speak without tearing, and she didn't want the poor stable boy to have to endure her crying. So, she watched as the boy guided her horse away, listening to the click-clack of the hooves as the only distraction. 

When there was no more distraction, it was eerily silent. She hunched over and sobbed. She didn't know how long she'd been there, crying like that. Big ugly tears, with a sniffling red nose. She told herself to toughen up multiple times, though sometimes you can’t yourself to listen, even to yourself. Clary didn't even know how she'd gotten into a seated position on a wooden crate, though here she was. Maybe it had been hours that she'd had her head in her hands. The clock on the wall had informed her it had only been a mere five minutes. She wiped her eyes, finding smudged black lines on her fingers.

Oh great, she sighed miserably.

As she was attempting to smooth down her hair, she noticed a figure at the door and jumped from her position on the crate. The sun shone behind the person, outlining the silhouette. She couldn't quite see who they were, that is, until they emerged from the shadows. Jace Herondale.

"You shouldn't hide," he said, walking towards her. He handed her a tissue, with which she wiped her under-eyes, and he stood across from her. "It only makes them gossip more."

"Go away," she said coldly once she guessed her eyes weren't as dark as a raccoon any longer. She was in no mood to talk. "For all I know, that was some trick you and your father schemed." 

She'd expected a reaction, maybe even wanted one, yet his face was as calm as a summer's day.

"Just think, Clary," he talked with an air of mocking laced within his words. "One more leg and you could've easily outrun your horse."

She took a long, tired sigh before giving her best glare down. Her eyes were narrowed at the boy stood before her, and her lips were drawn impossibly thin. She was really not in the mood.

"Clary, I like you; I do. This isn't a personal attack on you as a person." He reached out to touch her shoulder, which resulted in an inevitable volcanic eruption, hot sparks of lava that flowed down her limbs from just one simple touch. She shrugged away.

"That may be so," she pondered, turning herself slightly so she was no longer facing him. She tried to occupy herself with the saddles, with frivolous tasks like straightening the crooked ones. She tried to pretend that none of this mattered to her at all, not really. Keywords: tried to. "But it doesn't change the fact that you're still vying for the throne."

"Ah yes," Jace replied sarcastically, "that pesky detail."

She rotated on her heel to face him, who had taken a few steps back. She felt oddly pleased and upset at once.

"This is serious," she scolded, she had no energy or patience for jokes.

"I'm dead serious."

She stared him down, searching for any sign of otherwise and was frustrated when she found none. Clary's shoulders sagged and she sighed, before taking off the idiotic hat she was wearing and tossing it onto the dirt-filled ground.

"Luke says your father's a retched snake, what do you make of it?" she was surprised to have asked. She wasn't normally one to go around insulting people's fathers.  
He was silent for a moment, and she was afraid to have offended him. She chastised herself. Of course, he'd be offended, it's his father.

"It'd say he certainly isn't right, but not entirely wrong either," he said with complete honesty. She had taken a few steps toward him without realizing as if she was on a tether. His brows were furrowed, conflicted in the thought of what his father had become over the past few weeks. Had it always been there, and had awakened recently?

"What about you?" Clary asked, her voice raspy and uneven all of a sudden. She laughed a little, though it was dry and heartless. She hated her curiosity. She should keep her mouth shut. "Are you like your father?"

They were inches apart now, and she was staring up at him. He towered over her to the point which it was almost comical. He didn't hesitate to reply.

"No."

He leaned in. It was an odd feeling, to feel this way about someone. She had never really experienced anything like it before. Was she really about to do this? Their faces were so close that their noses grazed each other’s, and she could feel his warm breath against her lips. His vision danced across her features, her eyes, her nose, her lips. She felt like she was wrapped in a blanket that was his gaze, protective and unyielding, which left her shivering. His hand held the small of her back, and she was brought impossibly close to him. They were so close to each other that it was physically painful when their lips were still not connected. It literally ached. His strong hand went to clasp behind her ear and was pulling her face closer...

"Jonathan!"

They sprung apart like shrapnel. Viscount Herondale had marched inside a few moments later and eyed at them suspiciously. Clary was wide-eyed, she looked like she was a teenager caught kissing someone. Which wasn't far from the truth.

"Leave us, Jonathan. I'd like to have a moment alone with the princess."

Jace looked as though he was about to protest. His jaw was formed tight and he glared at his father. His expression deflated when his father's gaze was unyielding. His eyes said it all. 

Go.

He met his eyes with Clary's, who nodded slightly. So, he left, leaving her with a man she wanted nothing to do with. The viscount was wearing an old uniform lined with medallions and golden pins with engraved roses and rayed suns. His clothes were pristine, like everything else about him. That was right, he'd been an old war general. Clary had forgotten. She was about to murmur an apology when something caught her eye. It was the Herondale family crest sewn into the clothes. It was a brilliant gold, vibrant and bold. It stuck out like a sore thumb and she gasped before she could stop herself.

The Herondale family crest- or the family rune as most referred them as- was so familiar it punched her in the gut. She couldn't believe it. A diamond with two curved lines sprouting from the top. It had constantly reappeared within her drawings for the past four years, and she never understood why. She felt strangely far away, in an alternate reality which consisted of only her and her flashbacks.

Flashes occurred, her in the car, late at night. She was singing along with her brother to a song she couldn't recall, her father laughing at them jovially. The next, she was almost unconscious. Her brother was against her, his body limp. Glass had shattered through the window and was lodged into his skin. Her father, thrown from the car like a ragdoll, dead on the hard asphalt. She heard a scream. Had it been hers. She had drifted away and when she woke, she saw a man. His face masked by an ebony hood. Though his smile showed, wicked and pleased. He was clad in all dark and he looked like an angel of death, coming to take her away like he had her brother and father. A grim reaper. The only distinctive thing about him had been a small, golden shape sewed into the chest of his coat... The same rune as the viscount wore at the very moment.

Her mind snapped and she suddenly had too much strength to contain. She whirled on the viscount, abandoning her seat upon the wooden crate.

"You," she shrieked, venom lacing every word that parted her mouth. She didn't even realize she was crying again until she could no longer see, her vision blurring. Clary hadn't even remembered she'd been in the car during the accident. How could she have not remembered?

"The accident that killed my father was no accident. You..." she sputtered. She couldn't keep one single trail of thought. She needed to express all of them at once and her brain failed when it revealed she couldn't. "You killed my father," she breathed, letting it all sink in. "You killed him... how?"

And to her surprise, his eyes glinted with amusement rather than guilt. His lips the hint of a smile rather than a grimace. He didn't confess, yet he didn't protest.

"You have no proof," he responded, his voice calm and almost bored. He flicked off a non-existent piece of dirt from his shoulder and his eyes turned on her, now transformed cold and ferocious. "And even if you did, that brain of yours is faulty at best. Who doesn't remember being present during an accident in which their brother and father were killed?"

His words struck a core. His words held the truth. What kind of person didn't remember something like that?

"Who do you think the country would believe, little girl? A veteran war general like myself, or a lost little princess who hadn't been home in four years?"

She didn't know what to say. She was dumbstruck.

"My name is not little girl," she responded sternly. It was the only thing she could muster before she fled from the stables. As she brushed past the viscount, his touch was frigid as ice. She found her way to the castle steps, stumbling in her heels, wondering if any of that had actually happened, or if she had imagined it all.

"Unfortunate incident that," the viscount voiced, making his way up behind Luke, to which Luke snarled.

Luke was walking back after seeing Clary and apologizing profusely. She had reassured him that he wasn't to blame, though it hadn't eased the guilt he had felt. Which is when the viscount had emerged from another corridor. Luke cursed himself for turning down that hallway when there were dozens more leading to the same place he was headed. Luke had never been fond of Stephen Herondale, even during their years at school together. Stephen had always been a little too cruel, and his mother, Imogen, a little too much of a prude.

"Viscount," Luke commenced, ready to launch into a lecture. "You may not know what my job as the head of the royal security entails. My job is to protect the crown, and make sure no harm comes to them. When someone attempts to toy with their emotions..." The last part had been directed to Stephen.

"I think we know exactly how well you cater to the crown's emotions," Stephen grinned snidely, to which Luke wanted to growl. Stephen knew that a young Lucian Graymark and Jocelyn Fairchild had been dating once, way before her arranged marriage to Valentine. They would have married one day if it hadn't been for the arranged one. And Luke never had seemed to get over it.

"If you ever hurt either of my girls," Luke barked at the unwanted intruder, "Then you'll answer to me. Any crimes committed against you and you'll do well to remember, I have diplomatic immunity in 47 countries."

Stephen's lips turned to a scowl and his voice had risen considerably. "Lucian, you will understand that fear is not in my vocabulary!"

It was Luke's turn to have the upper hand. "Perhaps," he said, pretending to agree before snapping at the viscount. "But it's in your eyes."

Luke now took the twisted rubber snake from his pocket and slapped it over the viscount's shoulder. The thing now rested on the old war uniform like a sick dangling toy. "You forgot something."

And with that, Luke stalked away, leaving the viscount with a slight tremble in his knees, and eyes enlarged with shock.

*****

"Was I in the accident with John and Dad?" The question flew from Clary's pale lips before she could halt the train of thought. Her mother gasped, her teacup slipping from the queen's grasp and shattered on the floor into a thousand fractals of once delicate white porcelain, transformed sharp and deadly.

It was later that day, and they had been having their afternoon tea, which had once again become somewhat of a ritual like they'd used to do.

"How..." her mother couldn't seem to form any phrases. Her eyes incredulous. "Who told you?"

Clary was about to reveal all that had happened when she bit her lip. The maids were cleaning the mess, and the maids gossiped almost as much as the divorced mothers in Idris. She thought back to what the viscount had said. And he'd been right. No one in their right mind would believe her. She had no proof.

"No one had to," the lie tasted awful upon her lips, though she held through. "I had flashbacks that seemed too vivid to be imagination and I connected the dots."

Her mother nodded, still struck with surprise. She must've thought that Clary would have never remembered. Jocelyn took a long sip from her new teacup the maids had provided and then proceeded to press against the corners of her eyes with her thumb and pointer finger.

"Mom," Clary said, hesitating now, "how did I not remember? What did you do to make me forget?"

Her mother sighed deeply before placing a warm hand against Clary's on the table. "The first few nights after returning from the hospital, you were having such horrible nightmares. You wouldn't sleep for more than a few hours and you'd always awaken with screams. I..." Jocelyn paused, knowing Clary wouldn't like whatever she said next. "I enlisted the help of someone. Of Magnus Bane. He created a concoction, a remedy, that would calm your nightmares and they eventually wiped your memories of the accident altogether." Jocelyn winced as Clary's hands tightened.

"Magnus?" Clary wondered, disbelieving the information fed to her on a silver platter.

"He was only trying to help you, as was I. I thought that maybe it would be easier if you didn't know-"

"But that'd not your decision, is it?" Clary wasn't angry at her mother, not really. She just had an extremely eventful day, is all. Maybe she would be mad tomorrow, though today not so much. Her vision was clouded with only thoughts of her plush pillows, comfortable covers and sheep jumping over the fences that she had a sudden urge to count.

"Clary, I'm sorry."

"It's ok," she said, no energy to even stay mad.

"You're really okay?" Jocelyn seemed skeptical, clearly ready for her daughter to put up a fight.

She yawned. "I'm just tired, could we cut this short? I feel very drained." 

Jocelyn agreed, giving her daughter a hug before leaving her to rest.

Clary sunk down into the warm and welcoming covers, wanting to never leave. The world out there had much more surprise turns than anticipated. She dozed off like a fatigued baby. It felt as though the events of the day were nothing more than a lively dream.

*****

"Jace, I'd like to ask you a question," the queen said, making her way into the kitchen where Jace was stationed at the stove, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and cooking something that made Jocelyn's mouth water at the delicious smell.

He turned off the gears on the stove, lifting the burning pot carefully to pour the contents into two bowls. He slides a bowl gracefully towards Jocelyn and handed her a spoon. 

"Sure."

"Why are you so against Clary being the queen?" She questioned, ready to calculate his moves. She had wanted desperately to know since Stephen had never voiced his problems with her daughter before. She had no indication that anything like this would happen, so when it did, it rammed into her side like a speeding train.

He took a pause before responding, taking his time to blow on the steaming soup and take a hearty sip. "My father believes that Princess Clary doesn't know the people all too well."

His face was emotionless, his voice unwavering. Stephen had taught him well. Jocelyn had always been envious of the way the Herondales could hide their emotions, no one knowing their thoughts unless it was what they wanted. "And you feel as though you do?"

"Well, I was born here. I finished schooling here. I am a true Idrisian," he stated, stirring his soup around the bowl without breaking eye contact. "To be quite frank, Clary left when she was fourteen, and it has been very little time since she's returned."

Jocelyn felt ashamed to somewhat agree with what he was saying. The slight nudge in her brain, pestering her. He's right, the nasty voices said. Yet, on the other hand, her mother bear instincts were on high. She believed in her daughter, and she wasn't about to lose confidence just because a Herondale said otherwise.

"I for one, think that Clary would make an excellent queen. She's terribly bright, sensitive, caring-"

"I know that," Jace said.

She was sure it had shocked him more that her. Her eyes widened the slightest and the fingers clutching her spoon had almost lost its grasp. He had frozen for a millisecond, almost imperceptible before he carried on as if he'd said nothing. "You do?" She inquired.

"Yes, I do," he admitted, lifting his bowl from the counter and turning to cleanse it in the sink with soap and now lukewarm water.

Jocelyn narrowed her eyes slightly; she didn't know what game he was playing at. She had no way to be sure whether or not he was being genuine, or whether or not he was trying to wind her up, to push her buttons. She hoped it was the former. Though, she could never tell with those damn Herondales.

"My take on it is," he continued, placing the dish into a drying rack before sitting back down at the stool at the marble countertop island, across from Jocelyn. "How does one care for the people when they do not know the people?"

Jocelyn took what he'd said into consideration and concluded that it made perfect sense. Clary needed to develop deeper bonds with the people who she'd be leading someday.

"Touché," she said, before finishing up her soup. "Thank you, Jace, you've been quite helpful today."

She rose from her stool and walked from the kitchen with a small grin embedded onto her lips. She knew exactly what to do...


	7. I Loathe You

"Clary's doing well," Jocelyn satisfied, chatting with Luke in hushed tones as she watched her daughter from a distance. "Some major mingling, I see..."

Clarissa Fairchild strolled through the garden party her mother had arranged. The high nobility families of Idris had been invited to attend, most of whom Clary had been forced to exchange polite conversation with. She asked endless nobles about the state of their properties, listening to the endless concerns of not having enough land. There were a few nobles who she did like, however, and she asked them how their grandchildren were, and what they were up too. Even so, she was growing increasingly bored. She wanted to try her best. If the people of Idris liked her then she would have no problem becoming Queen, is what her mother had said. She was the rightful heir to the throne; after all, her brother dying years ago granted her the spot upon the throne. She was never taught how to become Queen. She had always thought that she'd be nothing more than a princess. 

Though she was determined. The bore of the party was weighing on her, yet she still tried her hardest. She wanted to prove that she could do it, and she hoped she'd make her family proud. Clary would be damned before that arrogant devil Jace Herondale took the throne.

The sun was at its peak now and the light shone down, seeming to make her hair appear as though it were engulfed in flames. She tried desperately to find Isabelle or Simon, though she knew after a while it was no use. Probably off making out somewhere, she concluded. She was happy Izzy and Simon had each other. If she couldn't marry for love, she was glad that they could.

It was either marry in thirty days or give up the throne to whoever was next in line, she thought bitterly; remembering the conclusion the Clave had come up with. It was a rather old-time law, yet it was still the law. The law is hard, but it is the law. She rolled her eyes at the mantra that had been forced into her brain since birth. It was a load of rubbish if you asked her...

She found her eyes wandering to her fiancé, Nicholas Alderheart. His family was one of the higher nobilities, after the Lightwoods and the Herondales but before the Lovelaces. She may have been forced into an arranged marriage, though she didn't doubt that she couldn't love him... in time. He was currently scurrying through the grass like a squirrel, snapping pictures of couples and families with the camera hung around his neck. Something she never seemed to see him without.

She let out a sigh of relief when she realized Izzy and Simon had made their appearance, engrossed in the variety of food at the appetizer table.

"Hey, Clare," Izzy grinned widely when the princess was close, looping her arm through Clary's. "Did you happen to see who is here?" Izzy swivelled them both around so that they were facing the direction of the party and nodded her head into the crowd.

"Who?"

"The king wannabe with Lady Kaelie," Isabelle said, a slight annoyance in her voice directed towards her brother. It wasn't long before she knew who Izzy was mentioning.

Jace Herondale made his way towards the party, with a girl hooked on his arm. His hair glowed gold in the sunlight and Clary couldn't shush her mind thinking how good he looked in a suit. She quickly dismissed the betraying thought. Even from here, Clary could see that the girl he was with laughed at his jokes a little too loudly and her dress was a little too revealing.

Clary had known him her whole life. He'd always been around when Izzy and Alec visited, which was basically every other week growing up. She had never been too fond of Jace, she had to admit, and she had a sneaking suspicion he wasn't too eager about her either. Jace Herondale was an infamous bastard, had she ever met one.

"Is that... is she his girlfriend?" Clary asked, trying to keep her voice normal as a lump started to rise. She couldn't think for the life of her why there was one forming...

"Lord Jace doesn't have girlfriends. Only dates," Simon stuffed the last of the crudités into his mouth, before rolling his eyes as he made his way up to them. "You should know that by now."

"Do you speak to him much?" Izzy asked, trying to be nonchalant, though Clary had a sneaking suspicion that corks were spinning in that beautiful mind of hers. Isabelle had been giving small hints for the past while and was flabbergasted when she realized Clary was more oblivious than she'd thought.

While Clary glared at Jace and his lady friend, Izzy couldn't help but wear a knowing smile. Of course, she knew that the two did speak. Her best friend and brother had been caught in a closet together once after all... She was aware of her brother's feelings for her best friend, despite either of them knowing it themselves.

"We... acknowledge each other," Clary made a face at Isabelle and the three friends laughed.

They chatted for a while longer, Clary not entirely there. She felt like she was floating high above on a kite, her mind elsewhere as she watched the party take place. Her physical was there, standing right in front of her friends as they joked around, yet her mind couldn't be any further away. Maybe it was on an island somewhere, stranded in the Pacific.  
Suddenly a wash of emotion came over her that Clary couldn't explain. She found herself saying her goodbyes to her friends and calling out for Nicholas.

"Yes, Clary, coming!" he responded immediately, breaking off the conversation with Alec and the ever so glittery Magnus Bane, who appeared by her side like lightning. It had always surprised her how quick he could run. How he'd never done track astounded her.

He motioned his camera for Clary to see, "pictures?" She nodded even though she wasn't really in the mood and hooked her arm through his. She found her feet carrying her in the direction of Jace and Kaelie. "Great. Let's go this way."

"Are you enjoying the party?" He asked politely. He was always so polite. Maybe sometimes too polite.

"It's a little tiring," she confessed.

"You've done very well, Clary. Very charming."

Clary forced herself to smile. "Why, thank you." She cringed at how formal and hostile she sounded.

Nic suddenly whipped out his camera, looking through the lens and instructing her to stop where she was. "The lighting is perfect, hold on," he told her, snapping pictures of her laughing at his eagerness.

"Stop..." she laughed playfully.

"Please just one more!"

"No more pictures," she said. She was glad that the hostility was gone. She did want to enjoy her time with Nic. She lifted her fan to her face and noticed that two people were trying to walk past.

"I'm very flattered, truly." She moved her fan to cover the lens of the camera just as the couple came by. Nicholas seemed then to realize the others and turned his attention off photography. He extended his hand to Lady Kaelie, "I'm Nicholas Alderheart."

"Oh, hello," she fluttered her eyelids flirtatiously, "I'm Kaelie Whitewillow, Lady Kaelie will do though."

"Kaelie and I were just discussing her latest achievement," Jace said, flashing her that smirk she had become accustomed to over the years. She wanted to slap it off his stupid face, or recently, kiss it... she shook her head. The sun was way too hot today, it was making her delusional.

Kaelie's cheeks tinted red, and she placed her dainty hand on his arm. "Jace, please."

"Why not brag about you? You're an amazing woman!"

Clary gritted her teeth before responding, "Maybe not everyone has as big an ego as you. Have you ever wondered that?"

It was meant to be an insult, though at her comment his smirk seemed to grow. He put his hand against his heart in mock offence, "Now, Clarissa. It seems that someone's a little snappy today."

"You know," she blurted, interrupting his cocky speech. "Jace, that Nicholas has a Ph.D. in anthropology. Do you have a Ph.D.?" She knew full well he didn't. Her smug expression lasted about a second before his mouth opened once more.

"A Ph.D., how fascinating!" He said, faking enthusiasm. "Well, Kaelie-"

"I'm sorry, Jace, but Kaelie was actually trying to say something before you so rudely interrupted. Yes, Lady Kaelie?"

Kaelie let out a slightly frustrated huff before turning to Nicholas. "Would you mind accompanying me to get a drink? For one, I'm parched, and it seems like this is turning into a 'my horse is bigger than your horse' argument."

Nicholas seemed to sigh with relief. "Yes, of course." He gave Clary a quick peck on the cheek before taking Kaelie's arm, "excuse me."

Clary glared at Jace once their dates were out of sight. Her eyes double-crossed her as they explored his features. From his beautiful blonde hair to the stunningly gold eyes that left her breathless every time. There was barely a silence before he spoke again.

"Fantastic party you have here," he started. She wasn't sure if he was being genuine or not. Knowing Jace though, she assumed it was the latter.

"Yes, it is. Thank you," she responded politely, her etiquette training getting the best of her.

"You two make a lovely couple," he said, referring to Nicholas.

"Yes, we do."

"It's a shame you aren't attracted to him," Jace had said it so casually that it had almost slipped past her. Almost.

"Yes, it is..." it had registered soon enough in her brain and before she could respond, she saw him amble towards the hedge maze.

"You, get back here!" She nearly shouted, granting her a few confused looks as she chased after him into the maze.

"You can't just say something like that and walk away," she whispered accusingly. She looked over her shoulder to make sure they weren't being followed before turning back to the smug devil that somehow passed as a noble. "I will have you know that I am very attracted to Nicholas."

She almost cringed at the unconvincing tone in her voice, and almost again when she noticed Jace had picked up on it.

"Well obviously," he said sarcastically.

Clary scoffed and glared up at his smirking face. He was much taller than her, so she had to crane her neck up to look at him. She had to admit, being short definitely had its downsides.

"I am," she defended, deliberating further when she could tell he still wasn't convinced. "He's...we are perfect for each other. He understands me-"

"He understands you. Wow, what passion," he chuckled low, sarcasm always laced into his words. His eyes seemed to soften ever so slightly, and he brushed a piece of fallen fiery hair behind her ear, almost subconsciously. His voice was quieter and hinted something else, "but I didn't hear you mention love."

It took Clary a moment to regain her posture. The places where his finger trailed against her skin still burned. She scoffed once more. "You are so jealous." She turned to walk around the fountain, hearing footsteps follow.

"Why would I be jealous of Nicholas?" Jace's sarcastic voice had once returned and Clary was starting to doubt it had ever left. "He's got to spend the rest of his life...married to you."

Jaw tightened and eyes twitching, Clary whipped around and did the first thing that came to mind; whack him with her closed fan. Her fan collided against his shoulder in a loud smack as she spat out, "I loathe you."

Clary gasped as Jace returned the favour, smacking his newspaper against her own shoulder. "I loathe you," he retorted.

Clary took a step forward so that her face was inches from his. She could feel his breath against her skin as she retaliated, "I loathe you first!"

It was then Clary realized the proximity of their faces. As if on instinct, she glanced at his lips. Plump, full, and oh so kissable. Before she could react any further, his hand came to the back of her head and his lips were on hers. She hesitated for a moment before she completely lost her sense; the only thing on her mind was how soft his lips were. She found herself wrapping her arms around his neck, deepening their kiss. Tingles ran across her skin as he slid his arms around her waist, pulling her closer. The way his body felt against hers satisfied her deeply, and she found herself praying that he'd never let go.

Her eyes widened then, her mind how grasping that her body had betrayed her. She broke off from him, stunned at what had just happened. "What, what are you doing?" she gasped for breath. She became more angered when he widened into a smirk at her response. "What is wrong with you? You can't just go around kissing people. Particularly engaged people!"

She pointed her finger at him warningly and turned away, heels clicking the ground as she marched around the circumference of the fountain. Her full intent was to put as much distance as she could between herself and Jace Herondale.

"You enjoyed it," he said smugly, trailing after her. "Want to kiss again?"

"Well I....no, just stop trying to confuse me," she warned, almost begged him. She continued on her path, still winded from everything that had transpired between them.  
"The only thing I felt was irritation and loathing." That was a lie, and both of them knew it.

"What's confusing about a kiss?"

She stopped abruptly, shoving her fan at his chest so he was a safe distance away from her. "You're just trying to make me like you so that I won't marry Nicholas and then you can take the crown!"

She gasped as his arms grabbed at her waist, tugging her close once more.

"Maybe... or maybe I just like kissing you," his golden eyes gleamed in the sunlight, catching Clary off guard. Her breath hitched at his smile, her fingers itching to draw him. She mentally slapped herself. One wasn't supposed to have thoughts like these to someone who wasn't their fiancé.

"You stay away from me," she shoved him before losing her balance. She let out a screech as she tumbled backward into the fountain, Jace toppling after her. She gasped, the lukewarm water soaking her. She wiped her eyes furiously and swam away when Jace attempted to grasp her wrist.

"You know what? I have an idea," she declared angrily. "I have a great idea. Why don't you go underwater, and I'll count to a million!"

"Be careful...Clary," she heard him warn as she stood suddenly. The fabric of her dress clung to her uncomfortably and the breeze chilled her. She made it a point to noticeably huff and she stalked off, not looking back.

She caught eyes with Izzy, who looked puzzled and wide-eyed, almost definitely seeing the princess enter the maze with non-other than Herondale himself. The look Clary gave told her to drop it for now.

Come to my room later, she mouthed. She knew Izzy had understood when she gave a faint nod, before returning back to her polite conversation with Aline Penhallow.

Conversation stopped as Queen Jocelyn took in the sight of her daughter, shoulders tense from being drenched in water. "Do I want to know, Clarissa?" the queen inquired, leaning in as not to humiliate her more.

"I don't think so," Clary muttered, stomping her heels as she brushed past her mother and Nicholas. She made her way up the stairs to the castle and huffed in memory of what just occurred.

She vaguely heard Nicholas say that he'd join her shortly, but she couldn't bring herself to respond. Her face burned to the same shade as her hair. As she made her way to her chambers, all she could do so was try to ignore the pitter-patter of her thumping heart, and the tingling sensation Jace's lips had left on hers.

*****

It wasn't until she turned into the hall where Clary's room resided, and cornered in on the ivory white door, that Jocelyn Fairchild became livid. Her daughter's decisions hadn't always been the best, though they seemed to reach a steep decline before plummeting the past few weeks. The queen knew everyone was guilty of making mistakes, though she was starting to wonder if her daughter made a little too many...

"What were you thinking?" She burst into the room, pushing the doubled doors with a ferocity that she didn't think possible. She'd sounded harsher than she'd meant, and her daughter winced slightly when she realized the usual melodic undertone of her mother's voice had vanished.

Clary was exhausted. Exhausted and damp. She'd changed quickly from her dress, which may never recover from its experience in the algae-filled fountain, and into warm pyjama pants and an oversized hoodie that went to her mid-thigh. She laid on a plush love seat across from the TV and was flicking through random channels, angrily pressing down on the buttons. She wasn't paying the slightest attention to the screen. She wished she could. Maybe it would block out her mother's nagging.

"Coming out of a fountain, dripping wet, with a man who is not your betrothed," Jocelyn shouted, pointing condescendingly in a way all mothers did while scolding their children.

Next thing Clary knew, her mother was marching to stand in front of her and successfully blocking Clary's view of the TV, who was currently playing reruns of some soap opera she had no interest in watching. Clary could almost picture the cliché steam fuming from her mother's nostrils and ears. She was already as red the ripe tomatoes Luke sometimes plants. "Hiding in a closet with the same man who is not your betrothed!"

Clary rolled from her side onto her back, her head hitting the golden threaded throw pillows at full force. She ran her small fingers through a portion of her tangled hair that dangled off the edge of the sofa, and she mentally reminded herself to brush the strands of fire before they became a ratted bird's nest.

"Do you think I plan for this stuff to happen?" Clary's voice was loud now, matching pitch with her mother's. "I lost it. Sometimes you just lose it!"

"Other people lose it," Jocelyn exclaimed, wagging her fan back and forth which caused it to open and close several times in swift motions. "We can't lose it. Royals. Do. Not. Lose. It! What part of the concept do you not understand?"

"I get the concept," Clary jumped in on her behalf. "The execution is... a little elusive."

She heard Jocelyn make the closest sound to a snort that she would ever come to because Jocelyn Fairchild did not snort. Everything about her was as delicate as a rose and as impeccable as the first snowfall of winter." You got that right."

Jocelyn sat tiredly on an armchair a little way from Clary. Several minutes passed in utter silence save for the murmuring of the television, to which they weren't really paying attention.

"I'll try harder," Clary said at last with a deep sigh. "I don't know why it's been so hard for me to do."

Her mother reached over from her seat to pat Clary's head of flaming curls. "Try to get some sleep," she said worryingly. Jocelyn could see the dark circles under her daughter's eyes that were amateurishly applied with concealer and callouses on her hands from late-night sketches. "You'll want to look fresh for the parade tomorrow."

Ah yes, the parade; another event to gain publicity and win over the hearts of Idris, another thing to worry about. Clary didn't think she could handle anymore embarrassment on her part, and it didn't necessarily score points for the royal family either. Instead of responding, Clary simply nodded. It wasn't much, but it seemed to satisfy the queen.

"Goodnight, Clarissa." Sometimes her mother spoke so formerly it sounded as though she was speaking to a mere stranger, rather her own daughter. And with that, the queen exited her room, a bundle of luscious satin pink robes and a flash of auburn locks swaying from side to side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably my favourite chapter and the scene that inspired this whole multi-chapter story, as well. This was originally posted as a one-shot on fanfiction.net, and I just added the small scene with Clary and her mother at the end so it felt more connected to the overarching story.


	8. Orphans Rule for a Day

Clary awoke the next morning with under eyes shaded mauve from restless slumber, and an uncomfortable dress hung upon a rack for her to wear. It was the day of the annual Idrisian parade, something still fresh in her memory even after four years. She was excited to experience the festival again, even with her hair looking like a rat's nest and her inability to stop yawning.

The parade was an extravagant event. And an Idrisian tradition, of course. Citizens from all over gathered to watch the annual parade where the soldiers marched in straight, unforgiving lines, where circus acrobats contorted themselves in nearly impossible ways according to Clary, and a marching band beat their drums in rhythm with their own footsteps. Kids and parents littered the walkways with flags which flapped freely in the wind, the gossip show host Lydia Branwell brought her camera and crew which wasn't surprising considering Clary was almost certain she was going to embarrass herself. Nerves jittered inside her like pesky bugs, crawling underneath her skin like an impossible itch, travelling up her spine and through her arms. It wasn't that she'd do anything during the parade really. Her job was to sit beside her mother in a carriage- which would lead the parade aside from the guards who marched in front- and look pretty. Her mother hadn't said those exact words though she knew it's what she meant. That's where she was now, palms sweating bullets and nervously rocking from side to side.

"How are you feeling, Clary?" Luke inquired, moving to stand behind Clary on a small ledge on the backside of the carriage. His hands were gripped firmly onto the carriage near Clary's shoulder.

"Honestly, Luke, not so great." Clary was still feeling somewhat bitter towards her mother, and a little towards herself, at their fight the other night. Tension still ran high amongst them. She knew that her mother only wanted her to succeed, heck she wanted to succeed as well. It was hard not to feel cold when she hadn't even been back in the country for a month, and already her place as Queen was at stake.

"Would you feel better if you called me Lukey?"

She smiled at this. When she'd been younger, she had insisted calling Luke by that nickname, and she could tell that he hadn't been too fond of it. It was sweet that he'd offered. She knew he was only asking to pull a smile onto her frowning lips.

"No... Lukey," she turned around to show she'd smiled, even if it had only been the smallest of ones.

His shoulders vibrated when he laughed, a gesture so bold that his whole upper body shook as well, "just this once."

She yawned, long and tired like a lioness ready to nap all day. She hadn't had any real sleep since before her plane ride to Idris. Staying up most nights past an appropriate time; using sketching as a form of therapy. She was too restless for dreamless slumber.

Sleep wasn't so much of a necessity anymore, more of a luxury she could barely afford, Clary decided.

Too many things had happened that she found herself losing sleep over; the arranged marriage, her father's murder, Jace. She found herself looking for him within the crowd and tried to hide her disappointment when he wasn't anywhere within her line of vision. She was being silly. He could be anywhere along the strip of road the parade would go along. She didn't need her eyes on him all the time. Though she had a hard time reprimanding her wandering eyes of this fact.

She turned her head at the sound of heels clicking against the stoned road chosen for the course of the parade. It was her mother, looking stunning, though when did she not? Her hair was down, with intricate braids framing the crown of her hair. The sun illuminated her locks and the only thing Clary could describe it was this: a burning halo.

"Let's get a move on, shall we?" she ordered in the regal way her mother's voice always seemed to possess. No matter where Jocelyn Fairchild was, she could command the room with just one sentence.

"You're late," Luke said, though his voice had the air to it that Clary could tell he was joking. Jocelyn sat beside Clary on the cushioned carriage seat before lightly smacking Luke on the chest.

"Nonsense!" she proclaimed jovially, "everyone else is just simply early."

A trumpet fanfare sounded, carrying its voice well throughout the streets. Heads shot up in rapt attention as the spectacles started. Street dancers moving swiftly to the music in colourful attire, flags flapping freely in the wind. It was a beautiful day for such a festival. It seemed as though Idris had many beautiful days. They didn't always reflect Clary's mood, though.

"Good morning, Idris!" Lydia Branwell said animatedly, followed by a chorus of cheers from the crowd. She announced into a camera, which was broadcast onto a bigger screen further down the street. It was playing live on television for those in the country who hadn't come to see it in person. Though the streets were so full, it seemed as though many had shown. "We are in Alicante-the capital of Idris- to witness the first annual parade in four years in which our Princess, Clarissa Fairchild, has joined us for this celebration."  
Clary smiled at the cameras which were no doubt, pointed at her, and tried desperately not to showcase how uncomfortable it made her. She'd never been the biggest fan of publicity. She relaxed when the cameras focused back on the festivities. She waved towards the crowd, smiling and tilting her head slightly. Even when her hand started to ache with exhaustion, she kept ahead.

It's all about perception, she thought. She must seem likable.

She kept smiling until she found Jace within the crowd, where her smiles became timid. She cautiously waved in his direction; less friendly and more unsure. A familiar heat crept into her cheeks and she was glad the cameras weren't on her to witness how she'd transformed into a tomato within a few seconds. She didn't know entirely where they stood which left her uneasy. She couldn't deny that she had feelings towards him-though it was undeniably wrong- and she couldn't help but wonder if he felt the same for her.  
He smirked at her, clearly noticing the flush of her cheeks and the way she reacted to him subconsciously. She wanted to hide behind a fan and whack him with one simultaneously. Her timidness faded when she saw Kaelie Whitewillow at his side. It wasn't her place to be angry, she knew, but her face had contorted blank. She moved her head, trying to stay in focus when something caught her eye.

A little girl, with long blonde braids and a plastic tiara, was being bullied by two older boys. Clary noticed that all the children in front of that particular house had clothes that were sizes too big or small, and they were all cared for by what seemed like one adult at that time. An orphanage. The young boys were taller and stronger than the girl who looked no more than ten years old.

Clary remembered when she'd first come to America. At twelve years old, she was scrawny and unsure of herself in an unfamiliar country. The boys at her school made fun of her different accent, which to them had sounded thick and clunky, though the Idrisian accent was almost identical to the American. They made fun of her rust-coloured hair, her carrot-sprayed freckles, the way her voice was tiny and insecure. It had been to the point where she had desperately wanted to change schools, crying constantly and never making friends. She had never told anyone this, except for Luke. Not her mother, not Isabelle or Simon, only Luke so he would allow her change of schools. After that, she'd been happy. Though the memory still stuck with her to this day, and to see that little girl bullied has struck a chord.

Clary frowned, her brows furrowing deep at the sight. They had time to pull her braids and snatch her stuffed animal when Clary couldn't take anymore.

"Stop the carriage!" she shouted. Without question, the soldiers yelled for the carriage to stop and she hopped out, her mother's protests lost within the rush of adrenaline that coursed her veins. She tried not to look enraged as she made her way towards the girl, who was now shrunk in fear. People craned their heads to get a better look at what was going on, and Lydia Branwell was announcing every step into her microphone. Clary tried to block it all out. She put on her warmest face possible before crouching down in front of the small child.

"Hello," she said, in what sounded like more of a whisper than anything. She wanted the girl to trust her, and Clary thought the way to it was hushed tones. "What's your name?"

The girl glanced towards her dirty shoes before replying nervously, "Emma."

Emma's voice was shy and mousy, and her bit at the ends of her left braid in a way that Clary wondered if Emma was even aware of doing so.

"Hi, everyone," Clary smiled at the kids who were all perched on the front steps of the orphanage. She received waves and small "his" in return. She then narrowed in on the boys behind Emma, who still possessed her brown, worn down teddy bear. The fur was matted, and one button eye hung barely from a thread. The doll must mean a whole lot to Helen for her to still have something so old. Clary wished she had something like that. As a child, her toys were constantly replaced when they'd gotten even the tiniest scratch. She didn't know what it was like to grow attached to a toy. This made Clary even more determined as she addressed the boys in front of her.

"What are your names?" she asked, not cruel in any way, but her voice slightly tensed so thaw knew she wasn't joking around.

They straightened up slightly before replying, "Kane," and "Fredrick" in unison.

"Did I see you messing with Emma?" Clary tried to raise one eyebrow and failed miserably like she did every time. She decided that settling for two was just fine.

"They were tugging on my braids," Emma pouted sadly, before crossing her little arms across her chest in annoyance and sending them a glare with pursed lips.

They mumbled apologies before setting the teddy bear gently back into Emma's outstretched arms.

"Thank you, Princess," she said gratefully, "My mama gave this to me before she died."

Clary thought for a moment, looking at all the orphans in front of her. It seemed as though someone could show them kindness once in a while.

The princess smiled warmly before replying, "How would you like to be a princess for the day?"

"In fact, why don't you all become princesses and princes for the day, and join me in the parade?"

"Kissing children, hugging orphans? What a low, vulgar political trick," Viscount Herondale scoffed from his seat, though Clary was oblivious to his thoughts as she was too far away to hear.

Jace watched Clary as she laughed along with the kids, who were all being handed crowns and tiaras. His eyes hadn't left her since she'd arrived. "She's letting the kids join the parade," he said, mostly to himself since his father was brooding too much to listen, "how charming." Clary wasn't close enough to hear that either.

The kids cheered, rising from their seats on the dusty steps while Clary placed crowns and tiaras onto their heads. She thanked the man who'd been selling the plastic accessories, telling them that she'd pay the cost later. Once each kid was up and ready, energy flowing so clearly through their uplifted faces, Clary took Emma's hand.

"Ready, Emma?"

The young girl nodded, still suckling on one of her long braids.

"Just have fun!" Clary shouted to the children as the parade carried on.

Jocelyn gave her a look of approval as the carriage rolled away, and Clary followed behind with the kids. She and Emma waved at the crowd, who roared louder than before. She talked to Emma as they walked and slowly but surely, Emma stopped suckling her braid, letting the plated hair fall from her mouth. In return, a smile crept onto her face and she waved for confidently. Clary couldn't help but feel content. It was one of the best days she'd had since she'd returned in Idris, and it was all thanks to the adorable girl who stood beside her.

When her eyes met Jace's golden ones once more, his eyes reflected an emotion she hadn't seen much from him before, validation. His smile was genuine now as if he was proud of what she'd done. She had only ever seen a few of Jace's genuine smiles. It had only been a moment, and yet it still sent tingles all the way up her spine. As quickly as it appeared, his expression was replaced by his usual fierce blankness that he always seemed to portray. Clary had wondered if she imagined it. She felt as though she was imagining a lot of things lately.

Though she regained his stare once more, and his lips were curled into the barest of smiles that she was sure most wouldn't notice. Only people who knew him well enough would notice any change. She'd spent many nights since her arrival in Idris attempting to perfect his face in drawing; one eyebrow raised, jaw as sharp as daggers, lips curved into a smirk. It wasn't something she would admit to anyone, though she found herself doing it often enough to detect the slightest difference. Her artist's eyes were prone to detail. Maybe even more so when it came to Jace. 

It was for that reason that when she looked at him again, she knew she hadn't imagined it.


	9. The Queen is a Surfer Dude

High heels smacked loudly on the floors as though they were throwing powerful punches to the glossy material. That was always the sound that accompanied Izzy wherever she went, trailing behind her like a shadow. Clary had her arms locked with Isabelle's while her friend chatted away about Clary's upcoming bridal shower.

"Ever since you got back, Clare, I've been planning away. I know the marriage wasn't strictly your choice, per se. But it's your wedding! I remember cutting out magazine clippings of bridal dresses and throwing a pretend wedding for you and Alec when we were six years old. I want this to be special for you," she gave Clary a brilliantly warm smile, teeth the envy of every dentist shining bright, before charging forward with her previous thoughts. "I was thinking of a theme with gold and white accents..."

At Isabelle's pause, Clary looked up to find Jace before them, carrying sheet music in his hand. He was likely making his way to the music room, a little way down the corridor from where the girls had walked. He was rid of his usual attitude. No sarcasm detected yet; Clary was becoming particularly apt at sensing it. And when he gave her a smile, almost shy and hesitant, she wondered if maybe his usual confidence was only half of his true personality. It intrigued her.

"Why, hello brother," Isabelle exclaimed rather animatedly, giving him a questioning look. They seemed to have a conversation with their eyes only, bickering back and forth the way only siblings could. Clary felt a small ache in her chest at seeing it; she and her brother had been very close once upon a time.

Finally, as though Isabelle had lost, she unlooped her arms from Clary's and started retreating, walking backward slowly. Izzy grabbed the maids by their elbows, much to their protests, " Actually, Clare, I have so much to plan still and I want it to be a surprise. You like surprises, right? Anyways..."

Subtle, Isabelle. Subtle.

Isabelle vanished a second later. Clary would have had no idea where that girl had gone without the sound of Iz's heels clomping eastward. She knew Izzy had been in track during high school, but she'd never seen anyone with the ability to run in heels.

Clary awkwardly turned back to face Jace, who was still standing before her. They looked at each other expectantly, as if waiting for the other to speak. When had she gotten so tongue-tied around him? It was only Jace. Who she'd kissed, then promptly fell into a fountain with? Who was going to steal her throne...?

"So," she started, tucking her arms behind her back to hide the way they were jittering, shaking. She started to pace slowly in front of him, back and forth, until he reciprocated. They were circling each other, slow and unsure. "Are you here to crash my bridal shower?"

Jace smiled, "Sadly, no. I was actually going to tell you that I was very impressed by what you did at the parade."

This made Clary pause her pacing. She stopped the fidgeting of her hands and looked up into Jace's face. Every time she was around him, she found that she was always searching for the sincerity in his face. Usually, it wasn't so easy to guess but this time, he seemed truly genuine. And Clary felt touched. "Thank you."

Jace seemed to take a long breath as if bracing himself. He reached out to steady his hand on her upper arm, stopping her from bobbing up and down on her heels. She hadn't even realized she'd been doing it. Her arms suddenly went tingly and numb, where Jace had touched it. He felt his hand there for a second before letting go, reassured that Clary had stopped.

"I also wanted to apologize."

Her eyes snapped to his, shocked by the words.

"I know it's not something I necessarily deserve, forgiveness I mean, but I just wanted to say that I don't usually condone the way I've acted recently. There's not really a specific thing, more like a combination of everything. Could we start over?"

Clary's eyebrows had risen slightly. He waited for her expectantly, though Clary was at a loss for words. She'd never really expected to hear an apology from the likes of Jace Herondale. She thought for a bit before giving a response. Much had happened between the two of them throughout the last few weeks, though Clary had never held it against him. Not really. Yes, he was trying to steal her throne. Yes, he was a self-assured brat most of the time. But life was too short to be holding grudges. She'd let go of this one some time ago. Because over the past few weeks, she'd gotten to know Jace more than she'd ever had before. And she was starting to realize that maybe, there was more to him than meets the eye. More to him than she thought possible. Maybe, just maybe, she'd misjudged him when they were younger, and the prejudices had carried over to adulthood.  
She gave him a small smile, not entirely trusting, but hopefully assuring. 

"Sure... I would like that."

They shared a tentative smile before a grand bell chiming broke it apart. The doorbell echoed through the corridors, followed by girlish squeals and laughter bouncing off the walls. Clary felt her face grow hot, a red blush peppering her cheeks, ears, and neck. "I'm having a slumber party," she said by way of explanation.

Jace nodded, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, "right, well."

"I should go," Clary confirmed, pointing over her shoulder at Isabelle, who she knew had been watching their interaction.

Clary spun on the heel of her sneaker before racing down the corridor with Isabelle, looking back once to see Jace standing in the corridor where she'd left him.

*****

Princesses and important noble girls from around the world crowded the palace of Alicante, all gathered in their best finery for the slumber party of the century. They chatted, all of them well acquainted with one another, as Clary made her rounds. She greeted Duchess Jessamine Lovelace, a slightly stuck-up aristocrat with a distant relation to Simon, though the two would never be caught in the same room with one another. She met Lady Tessa Herondale, the new wife of Jace's cousin Will, who seemed sweet. She met up with important girls from other countries who'd travelled for the occasion. Lady Camille Belcourt of France, who Clary wasn't the biggest fan of but had invited nonetheless; Heiress Catarina Loss, who she knew worked at the Beth Israel hospital close to where Clary had lived in New York; as well as Countess Seelie Queen, who was a little too manipulative for Clary’s personal preference. 

This carried on for a while, Clary greeting with girls she'd met long ago, and struggled to find things in common with. She hoped that by the end of the night, they'd all be closer somewhat. She almost jumped out of her skin when she felt hands dig into her sides. Clary turned quickly to find Maia, one of her best friends from high school. "Maia!"

Maia smirked when they pulled away, "Now that I'm here, let's get this party started."

The next hours were spent opening bridal gifts ranging from million-dollar paintings to tiny gilded gold bird cages. Snacks were passed around, juice boxes and candy, chocolate and delectable pastry deserts made by the kitchen staff, and by the time most of the food was gone, it was time for the real event.

"It's time for mattress surfing!" she screamed, loud enough to be heard over the throng of girls.

The main entrance of the palace was set up so that there was a giant metal ramp stationed in between the two spiralling staircases. Girls streamed from all sides up the stairs, grabbing a bed mattress or sleeping bag before launching themselves down the ramp on their stomachs and backs. Clary was overwhelmed by the sight. She stood off to the side, catching her breath for a while. She loved Isabelle and had to admit, she'd been having a lot of fun. But every once in a while, she needed to be away from the social aspect and take a small breather.

"Quite a party, darling!" Clary turned at the sight of her mother coming in through a side entrance, dressed in loose pants and a flowy top, clearly ready for bed. Her dutiful cat, Church, trailed alongside her feet. Queen Jocelyn gazed up at the ramp, girls shooting down, and her smile turned sad. The Queen laughed quietly at her memories.

"Jonathan and the boys used to love mattress surfing. I can remember him and Alec and all of their friends yelling up a storm. I could barely sleep when he'd host a party," she shook her head and Clary laughed at the image of her brother.

"I remember. He always told me I could join when I was older. 'Next year, Clare Bear'. It's why I included it."

"I used to participate too, you know..." Clary stared at her mother, aghast. She couldn't imagine the Queen of Idris mattress surfing for a second. A mischievous spark had re-entered the Queen's eyes. "I did it a little different, though."

"I thought you never slide," Clary said suspiciously.

The Queen's eyes went innocent and wide, "Oh, I don't." And with a wink, she was off, ascending quickly up the stairs. She took a mattress and smacked it with her hand, assessing its sturdiness. "Ready, darling?"

Clary cheered, followed by Isabelle and the other party guests.

Without a second thought, Jocelyn leaped onto the mattress and glided as if she were flying. Her arms spread out; she surfed her way down the ramp.  
Damn, Clary thought. Her mother was always graceful, even when mattress surfing.

The crowd erupted into applause and praise for the Queen, who shrugged and stepped off the mattress for a curtsey, "That's how it's done."

*****

The maid of Herondale Manor bustled about, cleaning and dusting at the commands of the Viscount. Stephen Herondale was never particularly nice to his employees, and the maid had become used to it by now. He'd been instructing the poor woman- elderly with fine skin and faded red curls- to fetch him hot coffee, among listing incredibly specific instructions, when his son walked in.

"Hello, father," Jace said, walking with the same ambiance of a younger Stephen Herondale. Jace had always been a striking image of his father.

The viscount studied his son, whose clothes were wrinkled; sleeves rumpled up to rest above his elbows and pants un-ironed, and whose face was strained with hints of anxiety.  
"What is it, boy?" the Viscount questioned with an air of suspicion, right eyebrow risen to the sky. "Something's been on your mind, so get it out with." That was more of a demand than anything. The Viscount was always incredible with demands.

Jace ran his pianist's fingers through long locks of golden hair which were too long for Stephen's liking, and said, "What we're doing is wrong."

Out of all the things Stephen would've imagined, this hadn't been it. He'd always believed to have his son perfectly groomed, not only alike in appearance but mirrored personalities, mirrored goals. When staring at his son, he'd felt as though his exact reflection was staring back. Apparently, this hadn't been the case. He grunted in frustration, not bothering to hide the disappointment laced into his gruff voice, "whatever do you mean, my boy?"

Jace sighed. His father had never been one to back down, and he'd known that he'd have a hard time before his father would comply. "What we're doing to the Fairchild's, it's-" he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in a sign of frustration before continuing.

"What are you saying?" his father's voice started to rise as he bellowed out his disappointments. His father studied his face, watching for any clues into the inner workings of Jace Herondale's mind. Maybe the viscount could pick apart Jace's brain to see where he went wrong, where they both went so wrong.

"Princess Clary is smart, and she really cares about Idris. I understand why we needed to challenge it in the first place. Maybe... maybe it wouldn't be so bad if she ran the country." Jace stopped his pacing, he'd noticed that his feet liked to pace around his father's presence.

"Are you mad?"

"She believes in Idris so much that she's convinced herself to marry someone she knows that she can never love!"

"I can't believe I'm hearing this," the Viscount smiles though it was one of menace, one that didn't entirely reach his eyes. It was a sign of anger, not of joy. He shakes his head lightly as she starts to speak again, "you want her to rule? After all the effort that we have put in, to end up with nothing?"

Stephen Herondale was in disbelief. His own son, ending up as pathetic as the rest of the country, who cheered for a girl who knew only but happiness and light, who knew nothing of the real world. He waved his hands around in frantic gestures as he spoke, hoping that somehow these tensed motions would slap sense into his son.

"It wouldn't be nothing," Jace protested, his voice lowered to normal, even and almost uninterested. But entirely convincing. "Idris would be in good hands and... she'd be happy."  
Jace had known he should've filtered that sentence before it was said because, at that moment, realization dawned on Stephen Herondale's face as if he knew exactly why his son was saying these things.

He lifted his head slowly like a knowing nod, before replacing his features with a wicked smile, "You've fallen in love with her." It was a statement. Stephen Herondale was incredibly good at statements.

"...No," Jace hesitated for a moment, but it was a moment too long. "No, father. I'm asking you-"

"No, no, no, no, no... You listen." The Viscount sighed long and hard, "what do you think will happen, hmm? That's she'll leave Nicholas and marry you?"

It wasn't a question for Jace to answer, and the Viscount waited for no reply.

"I. Wanted. To. Make. You. A. King." he said, punctuating every word clearly for his son to comprehend. "I did not spend my efforts for you to marry a Queen. I will not have it, sir." More demands, more expectations, more statements dripped from the Viscount's mouth like a river of poisonous displeasure, intoxicating the air with an acrid stench.  
"Don't worry, father." By the tone in Jace's voice, he could've been talking about the weather, or the latest baseball game. He sat down on the wooden coffee table before his father in the living room. "That will never happen. Clary doesn't care for me like that."

"Oh," Stephen smiles another bitter smile as he traps his son's jaw with his powerful grip. He held just hard enough to make marks on the tan skin beneath. "But you care for her, my boy. It will be your undoing."

Jace sighed for the hundredth time since they'd started speaking and ripped his face from his father's iron fingers. "I just want to stop trying to sabotage her, that's all."  
It was suddenly like the Viscount had changed his mind completely. His face released its tension with the snap of a finger, and his demeanour changed back to complete normalcy. 

"Alright," he said, tightening his navy-blue tie around his neck. "If that's what you really want."

"Go to her, congratulate her. And tell her that we surrender."

Jace narrowed his eyes warily at his father, suspicious of the intentions. He rose from his seat and strode carefully towards the door. As if a sudden movement could change his father's mind.

"I just want your happiness, son," the Viscount stated once Jace had gotten to the front door.

"Thank you, father..." Jace responded, with an unsettled feeling gripping his insides like metal claws.

With that, he'd walked out of the house.

It was then the Viscount's expressions were transformed back to that of fury. So close to the crown, only to have it ripped from his grasp like a child's stolen lollipop. He ripped the house phone off its hook, angrily punching in the number.

"Lydia Branwell, please..."


	10. Katniss Everdeen Who?

I need to calm down. Clary attempted to slow her breathing. She breathed in for a count of four and then held her breath for seven seconds before releasing all the air in a count of eight. This technique was supposed to help her relax. What good it's doing, Clary thought bitterly.

Her hands were still shaking, her heart still pounding. Her supposed trained professional glanced at her nervously with frantic brown eyes, so obviously scared to be caught on fire. What a story that would be: "Princess Sets Fire to Archery Instructor!"

It was a nice day outside, warm with a slight breeze. The birds sang sweet melodies that filled the summer air with a sensation of calm, the insects whizzed by the flowers and Clary could hear the slight murmur of voices coming from further in the garden. It was all too distracting. It seemed as though her hearing had intensified under the summer sun. Sweat dripped down the back of her neck, seeming to run all the way down her back as she wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. Partly nervous energy, partly the heat. Her palms were drenched, and Clary was sure that her aroma was not so pleasant.

She was expected to have perfected this last week. She was running out of time. The month was almost up. Soon, she would have to marry Nicholas. Soon, she would be Queen. And soon, her coronation night would arrive, where she'd most likely set everyone on fire because she couldn't shoot a stinking arrow. What kind of country upheld their ancient traditions this way? During her coronation party, she would have to shoot a flaming arrow through an elevated hoop, thus setting the outer rim in flames. It was supposed to symbolize moving forward in life, transitioning from princess to queen. Releasing her arrow meant releasing any tension that may have shadowed her former self, moving forward towards wisdom and knowledge. She had been plagued by this action ever since she'd arrived back in Idris. She'd never been one of sports, or accuracy, or precision… or anything active whatsoever. Her first act as Queen of Idris would be dismantling this ancient tradition so that no future monarch would ever have to participate in sports against their will.  
She sighed before knocking her bow. She pulled her elbow back and aimed the point towards the target while her instructor lit the arrow's tip on fire. She released her hold on the intricately carved arrow and held her breath, hopeful, as she watched the arrow's straight path through the air. It looked so elegant and graceful, like an eagle in flight. Surely this one would land, at least on the board somewhere. Her hopes plummeted, seeing that her arrow's trajectory had halted only a few feet before the target, burning a small patch into the grass. Her maid, Helaena, ran forward to douse the flames with an extinguisher. Clary suppressed a frustrated groan. She would never get the hang of it, she was certain.

"That's enough flaming ones for now," she said, utterly dejected. She tried another one, hoping for better luck. She only succeeded in almost impaling her maids. She looked sheepishly at her teacher, "How about we wrap this up for now? Maybe I'll have better luck later tonight…" The instructor only nodded her head; she too was defeated. This woman had never encountered a girl with less precision, the princess no less. Clary gave her an apologetic smile as the woman walked back into the castle, wiping the sweat from her thick brow.

Clary was about to follow her lead and re-enter the castle when she heard whistling. The familiar tune of the native Idris nursery rhyme rang through her ears, bringing back happy memories of playing in the garden with her brother. He laughed as she slowly ran after him, legs too short to carry her toddler weight. He had taken mercy on her and waited for her by the edge of a stream, humming the tune that beckoned to her like a siren's call. The memory of Jonathan hit her with an impactful force, it had felt too real. The song now was faint, perhaps coming from the trees on the outskirts of the garden. She turned.

Jace was there. He wore all black, though it was midsummer. Clary cursed the angels that had given him the ability to completely disregard heat. She could already feel her curls becoming frizzy with the combination of the dry air and her sheen. He looked pristine as ever, his skin aglow in the afternoon sun. He strolled through the grass towards her, ambling along slowly as if time were ever on his side. His eyebrows were raised, almost questioningly, "Would you like some help?"

Clary's cheeks burned. He'd no doubt seen how useless she was at archery. She resisted the urge to cover her tomato-red face. Her face was flushed from the heat of the day, there was simply no other reason why. Not her embarrassment. Not for the presence of Jace, whom she'd become all too aware of. "It couldn't hurt, I guess. I've done much damage to the gardens, what's a little more?"

She picked up another arrow from the ground and knocked it towards the target, which was still untouched. She hadn't gotten a single arrow on that blasted target, ever. She held the position as Jace circled around her, eyeing her form. She felt the gaze of his eyes on her body, a tingle trailing down her limbs, almost as if it were a physical thing. He laughed a little, which irked Clary.

"This is no laughing matter," she teased, biting back her grin, "do you make it a habit of laughing at princesses in distress?"

His eyes shone with amusement and for once, his smirk didn't annoy her in the least bit. He met her eyes and her breath caught, the tension in the air palpable. It was his intent, no doubt. "Only you, it seems, Princess Clarissa."

He came to stand behind her, not too close yet still close enough for Clary to feel the hot breath against her neck. Her surroundings were infused now with Jace's distinct smell and she felt intoxicated. Maybe this wasn't a good idea since Clary could concentrate even less than before. How could she focus on precision and aim when the weight of his glance sent sparks of pleasure shooting through her limbs? Get a grip, Clary. Any more gushing and she might risk sounding like the character in an angsty teenage drama movie.

"Relax, Clary. Elbow down," he instructed, to which she obeyed. "Good, now use your mouth as an anchor."

Clary blinked, turning slightly to catch his eyes with her own confused ones, "Excuse me?"

"Touch the back of the arrow to your mouth, lightly." He held his hand over hers, and the other came to rest on her shoulder. Clary's skin burned. She could feel his gaze on her face, studying her features, but she kept her eyes forward and focused on the target meters away.

"Now breathe in… release."

Her arrow whizzed past her flying through the air rapidly before finally, sinking into the target. Clary clapped with joy. It hadn't hit the center- not even close- but it had found a destination on the board. She turned slightly so that she could look Jace in the eye, "I can't believe I did it! Thank you, Jace."

A small, barely distinct smile rested on his lips that mirrored her own, "all you needed was a little faith."

The air hummed with anticipation as the world around Clary seemed to fade. She had almost forgotten the presence of the birds and garden staff and even her maids, they seemed to rest squarely in the back of her mind. She was focused on one thing, and that was Jace's head tilting towards hers. His forehead rested against hers and he searched her eyes, looking for something. What was he looking for? Clary thought dazedly. She nodded her head slightly, imperceptible to anyone else but them, and it was all the permission he needed to tilt her head back. Their lips pressed together softly, unlike their rushed kiss by the fountain. It was barely a touch, feather-light, and sweet. Liquid pooled in her stomach and her feet curled. The kiss was filled with yearning and lost opportunities. Almost as if this were goodbye…

When Jace lifted his face from hers, she knew her answer. His face seemed wistful and he gave her a sad smile that didn't reach his eyes, "that was rude of me. I apologize. It's just… I couldn't leave without saying goodbye," he paused, lifting her chin lightly to his face and said sheepishly, "I know you're getting married, if my advances don't make me the devil incarnate, I'm not sure what will."

He stepped back, putting a few feets distance between them. And under the sun's heat, Clary felt impossibly cold.

"I think it's time I bowed out gracefully. What my father and I have done isn't right to you, and I see that now. "

His words slowly sunk in. Jace was leaving the palace. Clary was going to be Queen, no matter what now. This was what she'd wanted from the beginning, what her foot-stomping and glares and stubborn refusal had surmounted to. Clary was going to get all she'd ever wanted this summer: for Jace to leave her alone. Why did she feel so hollow now that her wish was granted?

"So, this is goodbye?"

"It seems so."

He held his hand forward, ever the professional. She didn't like the way that his eyes seemed to her now, distant as if whatever they'd shared had been false. Perhaps this was for the best. She reached her hand out and they shook, sealing their departure from each others' lives. Clary breathed in slowly and resounded to put the past behind her. It was her wedding soon, now that Jace was going, she could focus her attention on that.

She'd only made it a few steps in the direction of the palace before she heard a hesitant voice from behind her, "Clary… wait."

She spun, pausing expectantly. She hated the flutter of hope that had sparked so suddenly at the sound of her name, and at the thought of how there may be another chance between them.

"Could I see you one last time, before I go?"

Clary downcast her eyes to study the brilliant grass underfoot and watched a bright ladybug crawl over her sandal. She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and bit hard, trying to think clearly. Impossible in the presence of Jace but she persevered.

Her mind was at war with herself, she didn't know what to do. She was engaged, it was a marriage of convenience with no romance, but still. She knew that Nicholas didn't deserve this. And she felt awful for the distrust he may already have in her regarding the several rumours surrounding her and Jace. The guilt had nothing on her heart, though, which forced her to open her mouth and agree.

"Yes, I'd like that very much."

*****

Queen Jocelyn sat comfortably in on a loveseat to the side of the ballroom, listening dreamily to the music floating through the air. It was the same music she'd used during her wedding, and it brought back memories of Valentine and his youthful eyes. She may not have married him for love, but it had grown, over time. He was nothing if not charming. She closed her eyes and sighed, running her hands through her hair tiredly. Only four and a half days were left until her daughter's wedding. The one that she'd been practically forced into. She'd never wanted that for her girl, she hadn't planned for it to happen like this. Jon had been the crown prince and if he'd still been alive, perhaps this week would've been his wedding. To someone he loved, not to secure the thrown from sexist and outdated laws.

She didn't startle in the least as Luke sat beside her, his familiar presence soothing her like a balm. Luke was her dearest friend, and she was glad that he was back in Idris. She was even more in his debt because he'd become almost like a father to Clary during her years in America. When Jocelyn couldn't be there for her daughter, he was.

"Care to dance, Jocelyn?"

She opened her eyes to see Luke standing before her, his palm upturned towards hers. She smiled as another song came on, and he led her onto the ballroom floor. She laid her head on his shoulder and sighed contentedly as they swayed softly.

"Do you ever think of the past, Jocelyn," Luke's hand was warm on her shoulders.

Jocelyn raised her eyes to meet his, "I find it unnecessary. There's nothing I can do to change the past, why dwell?"

"I find myself looking back on my memories often," he tapped his fingers across her shoulders in a nervous tick, "on us, to be specific."

Jocelyn's eyes widened slightly in shock; she hadn't been expecting this at all. Luke had never brought up his feelings for her after they'd separated as teenagers, she'd never realized that he'd harboured the same emotions all this time. He's never made a move, even after the death of Valentine. The death of the Morgenstern had been hard for both of them; Valentine had been Luke's best friend too.

Seeming to sense her doubt, he backed away slightly and distanced himself, "I'm sorry to overstep."

It seemed as though he were about to leave before she hurried to intercept him, "Luke, wait. You couldn't have known what I was going to say."

She tugged on his arm until he followed, and she sat them down on the loveseat, bring both his hands into hers.

"You have to understand, Luke," she willed his eyes to hers, "that this is a very important time. Clary needs me more than ever and as the Monarchy, it's my responsibility to…"  
Jocelyn's voice faded away; these were the excuses she'd been telling herself for the longest time. She was ashamed to have used them on Luke, he deserved better than that. Truth be told, she'd refused to think of her emotions towards Luke all these years, that had never seemed to go away even after her marriage to Valentine. He'd always been there for her, had always been her friend.

"You were never just the queen, Joce, you were someone I'd wanted to spend the rest of my life with. But if you prefer that I remain you're a part of your royal guard first and foremost, I shall oblige," he bowed his head to her. She cringed, hating herself for his hurt feelings. She'd only ever wanted happiness for him. Jocelyn laid a hand on his cheek, "I do truly care for you, Luke. I'm sorry I can't be who you want. The stars never quite aligned for us, did they?"

She watched tearfully as he walked from the ballroom, out of her sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be the last chapter update for a while. I'm not very motivated to work on this particular story when I have so many ideas for other ones! I still do plan to finish this fic, and will hopefully get past my writer's block soon.


	11. Rapunzel, Rapunzel

Clary was startled from her attentive focus on her sketchbook drawings to the sound of her ornate double doors being thrown open by none other than Isabelle Lightwood. Izzy's eyes were frantic as she scanned the room and upon finding Clary, she positively beamed. Without further ado, she bounded like a lively puppy onto the divan where Clary sat, clapping her hands in excitement and anticipation. Clary watched all this with stunned amusement, shocked at such energy one could have at nine o'clock at night and wondering why this elation pertained to her.

"Clary, can you not look out your window once in a blue moon?" Izzy sighed sarcastically, grabbing her arms and shoving the princess to the window.

Clary clumsily folded herself onto the window seat and looked out with a curious gaze. There was darkness, typical at nighttime.

"What could possibly be outside my window other than the shrubbery I see every day and perhaps a fox on the grounds? I must say I'm ashamed, Izzy, you know very well I'm much more of a dog person-" the comical musings of Clary faltered as her gaze drifted downwards. Her breath caught as she was proven wrong.

"Prince Charming is throwing pebbles..." Izzy sang, sidling up next to Clary and giving her a smug Cheshire grin.

And correct she was. Because there Jace stood below her window, whistling, as a pebble came to lightly tap on the window before her. The glow of the moon cast halos of soft light upon his face, illuminating his earnest expression. Her heart fluttered; butterflies beat rapidly inside her stomach. Watching him stand below her window in the night; it was like the scene had come directly from a historical romance movie... more or less.

She opened the window and whispered down with a secret smile on her face. The flush on her face welcomed the kiss of the cool night air. She questioned, "Jace?"

He cleared his throat before beginning, and Clary was content to see a rosy blush grace his cheeks and neck. He recited, "Rapunzel, Rapunzel, with hair so fine, come out your window, climb down the vine."

Clary lowered her head in a mock bow, "the feat you ask dear sir isn't easy, and I won't respond to that line, it's far too cheesy."

Clary looked over at Izzy, who was standing a few paces behind her. She rolled her eyes lovingly at the overly dramatic and cheesy scene. Isabelle was overjoyed for her two companions, and she could clearly see that they were matched in wit and humour. She laughed lightly at the red blush adorning Clary's cheeks, similar to the one Jace wore below.

"And your response is..." Isabelle inquired, tilting her head lightly to inspect Clary.

The princess ran a hand through her unruly curls and cast her gaze downwards to their pyjama-clad figures, "Oh, I don't know, Iz. Isn't this kind of irresponsible?"

"For once in your life, Clary, I think you should do as you wish. Don't try to please others too much," Isabelle took Clary by the shoulders to spin her around so that they both faced Jace once again. Isabelle gave him a wave, a wiggle of fingers really, and whispered into Clary's ear, "now, Ms. Fairchild, are you content with a boring night of solitude and quiet or would you like to promenade in the moonlight with your almost-prince charming?"

Isabelle could see Clary falter, whose gaze constantly flickered to the patient's lord below. Iz smiled devilishly at her best friend's shoulder, a little temptress whispering rebellious intentions at her ear.

Clary had planned on staying within the confines of her room to focus on her art. This was surely disrupted; she didn't think she'd be able to turn down such an opportunity as this. Climbing out would be tricky, though, what with the guards lurking around every corner. Even though there were security cameras, she was sure that they wouldn't be paying attention to her camera specifically, right? There were dozens of rooms in the castle, the camera focusing outside her private quarters couldn't be their main concern...

She bit her lip as she nodded her head vigorously, shooing Isabelle to the window to stall Jace as she changed into something more presentable. It wasn't until Clary disappeared into the closet, that Isabelle narrowed her eyes humorously at Jace.

"What game are you playing, brother? This better not be another ploy lanced carelessly by your father," Isabelle rested her elbow against the windowsill and laid her cheek into her closed fist.

She was sure that her adoptive brother's intentions were pure, yet she couldn't resist making sure. Isabelle didn't know what she'd do if this had all been a trick of the light, Clary used as a pawn in the game of Stephen Herondale.

"No game, fair sister. I assure you of that. Clary is..." Jace trailed off, as if in thought. He refocused his gaze on Isabelle and smiled, "I won't hurt her."

Satisfied, Isabelle rose from her perch on the window seat and smiled brightly at Clary, who'd re-emerged from her closet in a comfortable pair of jeans and a paint-splattered hoodie.

It was nice to see Clary behaving like a normal teenage girl for once, not a prim doll forced into queendom too soon. Isabelle didn't know what it was like to be a regular teenager, one who could carelessly go to school and party without the responsibilities that came with nobility. She envied Clary's four years in America. Maybe four years was enough to taste of freedom to satisfy the princess's thirst. Isabelle was sure that it would never have satiated her.

"You look perfect," Isabelle declared, tucking strands of Clary's hair into place, "like a normal teenage girl."

Clary curtsied with a giggle, "all I've ever wanted."

Clary hopped back and forth on her feet in an attempt to psych herself up for the descent down. She wasn't sure what was considered normal in Idris but in America, she'd never had the chance to sneak from her window.

With Isabelle's careful guidance, she sat on the windowsill with her legs facing towards the vine. She clung to the thick foliage for dear life and prayed her small height was an advantage in this aspect of her life if nothing else.

Clary smiled at the exhilaration she felt; had she ever been so impulsive? Just as her breathing returned to normal and she was assured that nothing would go awry, her foot gave way. She let out a startled yelp as her hands instinctively let go and were prepared to meet the gravel with a groan and a few new bruises on her back. She found herself in the embrace of Jace's arms.

"We've got to stop meeting like this," she mused, referring back to the chicken incident when she'd fell promptly into his arms. Falling around Jace seemed to be a hard habit to break. He laughed, the sound melodious to her ears.

Clary was reluctant to leave his warm arms; she had to admit the air was cooler than she'd anticipated. His arms lingered for a few more seconds than would be considered appropriate, brushing her waist as he let go. She shuddered, and it wasn't entirely from the weather. His fingers on her bare skin had electrified her and Clary was more awake than she'd been just ten minutes ago.

"Take good care of her, brother, or I swear you won't wake up tomorrow morning..." Isabelle warned from above, scolding him like a mother scolds her child.

Jace dutifully nodded and saluted her with two fingers, "rest assured, Isabelle. Clary will be safe with me. I pity the man who dares to cross you."

With that, Clary took Jace by the hand and they raced each other across the primly manicured lawn, out of Isabelle's sight.

* * *

They rode a single horse through the tall trees of Brocelind Forest, following a faint path for what felt like miles. Jace's arms wrapped around her, enclosing her in as he held the reins tightly in his grasp. She couldn't help but lean back slightly, savouring the feeling. The juxtaposition of warm heat and cool air sent chills down her arms.

The trip was exhilarating: the wind running through Clary's curls and against her skin. She barely minded the cold at all because the speed they were going... well, that felt like flying.

Finally, Jace pulled the reins of the horse and steered into a clearing, where Lake Lyn shone luminously in the moonlit night. The surface of the Lake was silver and reflective, mirroring their actions as they stopped alongside it.

Jace helped Clary dismount, her placing both hands in his while she hopped down from the saddle. He steadied her shoulders as she stumbled, the heat of his palms a reassurance in the cool night. She smiled shyly as they secured their horse with food and water, before venturing away for a walk around the perimeter of the lake.

It was like this they spent their night, tentatively holding hands and stealing kisses in silver lighting that pierced the sky in a luminous glow. The angles of their faces were half-hidden in shadow, yet not dark enough to hide the dimples in their cheeks and the positive gleam reflected in each other's eyes. They talked of childhood memories, of embarrassing experiences and young heartbreak. They discussed their hopes of the future, with each other within it, and their dreams for the country. Clary shared her insecurities of being a queen one day, a heavy task to burden the shoulders of an eighteen-year-old girl, fresh-faced and barely out of high school.

"I really think that I can make a difference in this country. To be a ruler as gracious and practical as my mother, but it's been so long since living here had been a reality. What if your father is right? How can I be responsible for a country that I abandoned for four years, after the death of their ruler?"

Her eyes were glassy and fragile as she peered up at Jace, genuinely curious and caring for his response. When they had first met, she couldn't care less of the opinion of the boy attempting to steal her throne. Things had changed during the weeks they'd been forced together and somewhere along the lines, she had begun to value his opinions as a person. She hoped he felt the same.

Jace took his time to respond, tracing the curve of her delicate jaw as he contemplated his thoughts. She appreciated that he took his time to collect what he was truly thinking and hadn't rushed to reassure her of her insecurities when he didn't truly believe the words he said. When he did respond a moment later, it calmed her more than any false compliments ever would have.

"At first, I must admit, I didn't think you had what it took," he said, careful to look her in the eyes. He wanted her to know that wasn't how he felt now, and that what he said was the truth. "I've lived here longer, my father thought I could handle it. It made me think so too. The arrival of a sparky red-head wasn't going to change that."

Clary pretended to take offence, playfully batting at his shoulder as he continued. She revelled in the feeling of his rumbling laugh against her chest, felt it deep in her stomach and the curling of her toes.

"But you _care_ , Clary. More than I could provide to the people. With a little more guidance, it'd say you'll make a darn good ruler." They swayed back and forth to the music of lapping lakes and singing crickets. "Of course," Jace went on, quirking a brow in mischief, "I would have looked devilishly handsome as a portrait on the palace walls."

"Oh, shut up," Clary laughed, pressing her lips to his for good measure.

The kiss was a bare brush, soft and airy. A tantalizing near-touch. Clary could feel his breath whispering over her lips, hot with want, and she gave in to her temptations. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she dug her fingers into the fabric of his shirt and pulled him flush against her. He ran his hands up and down her sides as their lips collided fiercely, working together harmoniously in a dance. Jace tore his lips away from hers and before Clary could protest, his mouth found the hollow of her throat, making its way up her neck languidly. He held her hips to him as Clary gasped, the sensations overpowering her sense of duty.

She could stay like this forever, locked in the embrace of this boy whom she'd once loved to hate. Her life would change too soon, responsibilities and a loveless marriage in store. For now, all she could do was savour the feeling of Jace's caresses against her skin and kisses on the skin beneath her ear as she was lowered to the grass. The feeling of free-falling was irrevocably entwined with the feeling of love, stomach fluttering and heart beating wildly. Her skin was on edge from the anticipation.

She knew she should but Clary couldn't help herself. She didn't stop.

* * *

Waking up after deep sleep is like the feeling of emerging from water after so long. Senses are disoriented, surroundings are blurry before they take on the sharp focus which is usual. As Clary came to, it took her a moment of pondering before she recollected the events of the previous night. It brought a flush to her cheeks and a small smile to her lips.

They were still in the clearing from the previous night, tucked under mountains of blankets in the canopy of a tree. Though it was morning, her mother shouldn't have noticed her absence, as the birds were still busy singing their happy little melodies. The chilled air led her to snuggle further into the embrace of Jace, who was still asleep behind her. She assumed that it's where she would have stayed, if not for the off feeling that cloaked her.

Wrapping her arms around herself in the hoodie she'd reclothed last night before sleep, she peered around the clearing. Lake Lyn looked beautiful in the day as well as night. The thick forest lay in the distance, the tops of the large trees kissing the silvery reflection in the peaceful light. Everything looked... normal.

Except for the abnormal sound Clary was hearing. A click-click, unfamiliar to nature. It felt entirely too manmade, manufactured, coming from the lake. She squinted her eyes in the direction of the sound, looking to the long grass on the outskirts of the lake, and spotted a canoe that hadn't been there the previous night. In said canoe sat a man, hunched over in a hat and sunglasses, a large camera in his hand. As the clicking sound went off again, she realized with horrifying clarity that it had all been a ruse.

Jace had set her up, determined to lull her into a sense of false security and affection, only to snatch it from under her in the evilest of ways. She would be made to look like the irresponsible girl who was "too easy" since society _always_ blamed the girl, and the country would lose faith in her as a leader. Damning pictures would float the internet, ruining her chances of marriage and thus, the throne. Clary would watch as her dreams of making her father and brother proud would shatter before her eyes. A princess fell from her high pedestal.

And Clary knew that she had brought this upon herself. Wishing and praying for the good in people, in Jace, hoping for love only for it to backlash in her naive face. It was her fault and she feared her mother would see that too.

The man was the paparazzi from that awful gossip show in cahoots with Jace's father. And he was here, documenting the fact that she had laid here all night with the enemy, his arm still very much wrapped around her torso.

Clary shrieked, jerking away from Jace as shock and panic set in. She turned her back to him and the photographer, gathering her things and her shoes as she ignored the confused mutterings of the boy who betrayed her.

"Clary?" he asked, touching her shoulder lightly.

She spun, throwing his hand off as if it had stung her. In a way, it had. She gave him a dark, venomous look, watching as the smile fell from his face. Clary knew that she had to be cruel for if she wasn't, she was afraid she'd break down in front of him. And she knew she couldn't be weak. So she viciously whispered, "I never thought you would be so low."

His eyebrows pinched together as he focused on her changed demeanour, rising from his spot on the ground to talk to her face to face. The blanket around his shoulders hell to his waist, revealing the bare muscles that rippled in the morning sun. With another click, she knew that there would be no doubt as to what had happened between the two of them. What she had foolishly let happen.

At the sound, Jace swivelled his head in the direction of the paparazzi, realization dawning.

"Clary, no... I didn't-" he started, but she didn't want to listen to his contrived excuses. She was done with excuses.

Clary reached the horse still tied to the tree in a sprint, never turning to the scene behind her as she galloped away. She didn't care that Jace called after her, that the man still relentlessly took photos, that this was the only horse thus leaving Jace without transportation. She couldn't care less. All she cared about was putting as much distance as she could from herself, Lord Herondale, and whatever explosion would become of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I know I don't update often but I still have plans to finish this story. I'm not very excited or urgent to write this like I used to be but still, I will try to write the best last chapters I can for you. I'm not sure when the next chapter will be up but I plan to write a lot this summer so we'll see. Thanks to those who are still reading, you guys are real gems ;)


	12. The Princess Makes Headlines

Isabelle's first thought when she awoke the following morning was, _damn, I need a mattress like this one._ Snuggled up under the covers of the future monarch's four-poster, firm yet comfortable plush memory foam mattress, Isabelle floated on top of a cloud. Don't get her wrong, her family's manor was just as elegant and intricately designed as the palace, but nothing bet the feeling of waking up in a bed meant for royalty.

As she contemplated all of this, trying to settle back down for a few more hours rest (her under eyes had been a bit dark the other day), she felt a soothing pressure on her shoulder. At first, Izzy thought it was Clary but no, the feeling was wrong. The fingers were stretched longer and thinner, slightly more wrinkled and a more maternal touch.

It was the queen. Isabelle knew this with a sinking feeling. Clary wasn't back yet. And Queen Jocelyn was finding it out sooner rather than later.

Isabelle clenched her muscles tight, steadying herself for the inevitable discovery as the queen's hands trailed towards the covers, which hid Izzy's terrified face and midnight hair. The covers were pulled away, the sunlight disorienting her from witnessing the queen's reaction.

She didn't miss the audible gasp though.

"Isabelle, where's Clary?"

Izzy braced herself with a deep breath, before sitting up. Her eyes cast downward, then to the window, and finally, to the queen of Idris.

"Heyyy," she squeaked, twitching her fingers back and forth in some feeble semblance of a wave. "It's quite funny, you'll laugh…" Isabelle joked self-deprecatingly, losing her vibrato when the queen's gaze remained steely. She tried to stall for her friend, "Clary's not here right now. She, she…"

Jocelyn's eyebrow lifted skyward and without a word, everything was conveyed. The woman needed a truthful answer right away, no more stalling nonsense. Isabelle could do nothing but comply. She wished she were stronger, for Clary's sake, but it wasn't like she could deny the actual queen of the country.

"Clary snuck out with Jace," Izzy's words strung together quickly, jumbled, and panicked. But Jocelyn had heard just fine.

"She what?" Jocelyn was incredulous. Clary had always followed the rules (a slight fabrication but it helped her sleep at night) and she was aghast. The wedding was only days away and they couldn't afford something going wrong.

Isabelle winced. She held up her hands placatingly, "don't be mad at her. I might have swayed her actions a little."

Jocelyn tilted her head to the right, giving Izzy a disappointed look, "well, Ms. Lightwood, I-"

Thankfully, before she could finish the thought, the doors to the suite had slammed open. In ran Clary, red with anger and exertion, hair stuck to her sweaty forehead. Her eyes shined with unshed tears as she wordlessly stormed past both of them, barely giving her mother a glance, to turn on the TV.

The headlines were just as horrible as Clary had expected, anything short of calling her a sleazy trollop. When princesses made national news, it was for praiseworthy things. Organizing a fundraiser for a good cause, advancing economic development in struggling areas; by the angel, even idle speculation and gossip was better than substantial evidence.

The fury from Clary's face bled out of her cheeks, leaving her with a ghostly pale complexion. She knew it would only cause her further pain, but she continued to stare blankly at the pictures on the screen. She and Jace, asleep in each others' arms. Her waking up, her discovering his betrayal, her leaving the scene of the crime on a horse while Jace attempted to chase after her. It was a train wreck. Her heart felt torn in two.

"My, my, what a scene!" Lydia Branwell announced, sipping her coffee eagerly as she beamed to the audience. Millions of people tuning in to watch their future queen hopelessly fail in the romance department.

Lydia looked all too pleased with herself. "Spotted: Princess Clary cozied up with her betrothed… except, that's not him, is it? What will become of the royal wedding, scheduled for the day after tomorrow…"

The remote was snatched from Clary's hand. She looked up to find her mother, stern-faced and tight-lipped. The television was muted, though the photos could still be seen in her peripheral vision. It was punishment enough; she didn't think she could stand her mother too. It was one thing to be young and stupid, it was an entirely different ballpark for it to be documented for the country's perusal.

"Clary, I expected better of you," Jocelyn said honestly. The queen didn't scold, but Clary almost wished she would scream at her. Screaming was better than the quiet disappointment that radiated from her now. "I specifically warned you not to be caught in another compromising position…"

Clary glared up at her mother, flinching only slightly at the hard gaze that looked back. "I know, mother, do you think I'm happy how this turned out? It was a split-second decision, I wanted to trust my instincts, and clearly it was the wrong choice."

"Clary," her mother sighed, softening slightly to rest her hand on her daughter's shoulder. It took effort for Clary not to shrug her off. "I remember what it's like, being young and in love. But you have a kingdom to think about and unfortunately, sometimes the greater good of the country must come before your own wishes."

She grumbled though she knew it to be true. It had been selfish to think that she could possibly be with someone who had tried to steal the throne right out from under her. Nicholas was the best decision in acquiring the throne and she had quite possibly ruined it.

"I thought... I thought he loved me," Clary whispered her excuse, feeling utterly dejected and pathetic. She knew it wasn't good enough.

Isabelle sat next to her on the couch, showing a sign of solidarity by resting her head on top of Clary's. She tried not to, but Clary snapped once more.

She spun to her best friend, throwing accusations she knew to be untrue before they even left her mouth. "Did you know about his plan, what he was going to do?"

Izzy looked at her, wide-eyed and hurt by the thought. "What, no! I didn't have anything to do with it, I promise!"

"He's basically your brother, Iz. How didn't you know?"

Isabelle's lower lip trembled something that happened so rarely that Clary intuitively knew she'd gone too far. "He seemed so genuine; I couldn't believe he'd do something like this. It's out of character."

"Well, it clearly wasn't," Clary mumbled, low enough for her ears only. She heaved a sigh, tired and weary. "I know you weren't in on it, I'm sorry. It's just been a long day."

"One that is not over yet," the queen proclaimed. She continued at the girls' perplexed looks. "It is exactly what that snake Lydia Branwell said. We don't know if there is even going to be a wedding tomorrow. So you," she said, pointing a finger to Clary, "are going to see if you can yet save this relationship.

Clary dreaded the encounter but knew it was something she had to be. She nodded her head in resolve, before leaving the room in search of Nicholas.

* * *

Isabelle was on the steps of the palace, anxiously awaiting a carriage to take her home when Jace arrived. The idiot.

He was dishevelled: blonde hair stuck up from his hands continuously running through the locks, anxiety to his features that was so unlike his normal self. He would have walked by Izzy without a glance if she hadn't stepped before him to block his path into the castle.

He looked down at her as if snapping from a dazed stupor. "Oh, Isabelle. I need to get inside…" he started but was stopped as realization dawned on him. Isabelle kept sliding from side to side, barricading his way with a human body shield.

She placed a manicured hand on her hip and pursed her lips together, narrowing her eyes at the boy before her. "Did you really think you'd be able to set foot in this palace?"

"Izzy, I…"

"No, Jace," she interrupted him, determined to say her two cents. "Clary is really hurt by what happened today. I don't need to know the specifics," she held her hand up to halt the words he tried to form in his defence, "all I know is that it's on the news and Clary really needs to mend things with Nicholas right now. Seeing you won't help."

Jace positively deflated, which Isabelle felt guilty for. He looked so sad and lost, such a different view from normal. He had really loved Clary, it seemed, but she didn't know how it would work anymore.

"It wasn't me, Izzy," he pleaded his case, meeting her gaze with nothing but honesty.

She nodded, blinking slowly in acknowledgement, "I know."

He looked at her, surprised, "you do?"

"I told Clary it was out of character for you. Yeah, you are competitive and like to win but it's just not something you'd do. And I can tell you really care for her; I've never seen you care that much about anyone before."

"It's just," he shook his head. "I don't know how the photographers knew to find us there."

Was he ignorant, or just dense? Izzy had to know that Jace was one hundred percent innocent before making outlandish accusations but after seeing the way he was acting, so tense and distraught and genuine, she knew it couldn't have been him. He really had no clue, did he?

She gave him a pointed look, rolling her eyes when the solution didn't come to him. "Can you really not see it? It was your father, Jace. There's no limit to what he'd do for power."

The lock clicked into place, "he's been trying to sabotage her all along."

Isabelle nodded, "exactly."

"I have to see her. I need to explain," Jace declared, attempting to push his way past. Once again, he was refrained by Isabelle.

"You can't," she told him, softly but firmly. "She needs to get married to become Queen. Wait until after the wedding, then make your peace."

Jace shook his head, "she doesn't need to get married. I won't accept the position as King."

"They'll just give it to the next male heir in line after you," Isabelle explained, frustrated at the outdated laws of Idris. "I know you mean well, Jace, but I don't think it's going to work out in your favour this time."

* * *

What a mess she had made. A month ago, as she descended contentedly in her plane on the tarmac, she never would have guessed the events she'd was about to go through. It had been a whirlwind: from stomping on noblemen's feet to chasing a chicken to falling into a fountain with a boy she despised… and loved at the same time.

Even though she was searching the palace grounds, getting ready to beg for a man she didn't love to take her back after her indiscretions, Clary still believed that it was worth it. She didn't regret her time with Jace or her time in Idris. The events of the past month had made her stronger and helped her grow and she knew now more than ever: she was ready to put her feelings aside and be queen. She had no other choice.

Nicholas sat on a stone bench, overlooking a manmade pond in the middle of the palace gardens. There were water lilies placed atop the surface and animals hiding amongst the shrubbery that rang along the edge. In the light of the early sun, it was peaceful and serene.

Clary only hoped that this conversation would be too.

Tentatively, she stepped around the bench so that she was facing Nicholas, her back facing the pond. She had contemplated touching him lightly on the shoulder but had ultimately decided against it.

"Nicholas?" she asked, hesitantly. Even though they were engaged, she really didn't know him all that well beyond the basics. Clary wasn't sure how he had reacted to the news. When they were married, Clary vowed to herself that she would try and make more of an effort to know the man who she would spend the rest of her life with. Maybe something would blossom from there.

His lips quirked up slightly, but it didn't reach his eyes, "hello, Clary."

She gestured towards the spot beside him in a silent question, sitting only when he nodded once. Clary fidgeted with the bottom of her sweater, unsure of where to start. "You are probably aware of the news…" when Nicholas didn't seem phased, she carried on, "and I wanted to say that I'm sorry. It was very undignified of me and it was selfish to take only my emotions into consideration. I can understand if you want to call off the wedding…"

"I want to make it work," Nicholas interrupted, surprising her. She tilted her head in confusion, waiting to hear his reasoning. She was glad that he'd been kind enough not to dismiss her entirely, but she didn't know why.

"I made a promise to you at the beginning of the summer that I'd help you and it wouldn't be fair of me to retract the promise after a mistake, something that everyone will make once in a while," he reached out to her, patting his palm lightly over her hand once, twice, still gazing to the pond and beyond into the woods. "If you still want to get married, then we will."

She sighed in relief. The throne hadn't been lost to her after all. Guilt spiked through her, Nicholas had been completely understanding of her actions and she only hoped that with time, she would be able to regain his trust.

"I would like tha-,"

Before she could finish her sentence, Nicholas crashed his lips to hers. She sat stock-still, before attempting to reciprocate. It was clumsy and awkward, teeth clashing together and their tongues moving out of sync. There was something entirely missing, and Clary longed for it to be Jace on the receiving end of her kiss, despite his betrayal. It would be the last time she imagined him that way, she promised to herself and to Nic silently. Her love for Jace would fade eventually, though agonizingly.

When Nic pulled away, they said nothing. The air was filled with unpleasant silence and Clary tried to keep her breathing normal. All she could utter was a loud, "uhhh…"

"There was no spark, right? I'm not imagining it?" Nicholas said, lifting his lips into an embarrassed smile.

Sheepishly, Clary shook her head. She didn't know if this kiss changed the circumstances, they'd agreed on only moments before, but she wouldn't force Nicholas into a marriage with her, no matter how much she wanted to be queen.

"We don't have to force romance," he told her, honestly in his words, "it would simply be enough to be friends."

Clary smiled shyly at him and nodded once, gently but sure. They wouldn't have an undying love, one to defy expectations and rival the great romances from the novels she read, but she was sure she could be happy with him by her side.

She placed her hands in his and squeezed assuring, "I'd like that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Review! Even though the posting schedule for this story isn't concrete, I do plan to post during the summertime and hopefully finish the story before or during the beginning weeks of September. Thank you to all who read and enjoy, stay safe :)


	13. Wedding March, Interrupted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't expecting to post again so soon, but I've been in a real mood to get this done. It's pushed me to continue writing this and possibly finish soon? I've put my other multichapter (TVD) on a short hold while I complete this one. Without further ado, I hope you enjoy chapter thirteen!

When Clary first awoke, she was disoriented. She felt only the silky-smooth sheets beneath her fingertips, the pillowcase against her cheek, and the sounds of a foot tapping in her room.

Wait…

She sat up abruptly, covering herself with the sheets as she came face-to-face with Magnus Bane, nobleman extraordinaire and glitter aficionado. The looked sparkling and proper in a deep blue button-down tucked in black, skin-tight leather pants, a snake-print belt wrapped around his hips. He removed the cat-eye sunglasses from his face and into his unruly dark curls, sighing impatiently.

"Finally, I thought you'd never wake," he said, clapping his hands together twice, precise.

Clary opened her mouth to ask what he was doing in her room, watching her, at 7 am when the doors opened. As if summoned by him (which they probably were), a team of staff in black carrying bags and suitcases of products strode into the room. It took her a second, but she finally understood. The bags were filled with makeup, skin, and hair products. Magnus was here to get her ready.

Because it was her wedding day.

"This early?" she yawned, disbelieving that the day of her wedding was actually here. The first day of the rest of her life… Was it normal to feel so nervous? The butterflies in her stomach beat violently at her insides.

"Yes, of course, Biscuit," he put his hands on his hips, exasperated that she even had to ask. "I let you sleep long enough, but there are things to be done. When I'm done, you will look stunning walking down the aisle!"

Clary laughed, placing her hands on her cheeks, and giving her best impression of a Hollywood smile, big doe-eyes staring up at him innocently. "Am I not gorgeous already?" she joked.

Magnus tilted his head. "Everything can be enhanced. I do not look this beautiful," he told her, gesturing down to his outfit, "first thing in the morning. Though it's damn close."

He pointed to her hair, which stuck up and puffed out like a lion's mane, "and that will take a while to manage."

Clary hopped from her bed, adjusted her pyjama shorts, and clapped her hands chipperly, trying to hide the tremble in her hands and the unease in her voice. "We better get started then!"

* * *

Jace sat, sprawled out on the couch in his father's study. He stared blankly at the bookshelves, the window, anything but the TV, which was turned on, broadcasting the arrival of the guests to the royal wedding. He wasn't partial to caring for others in such a way as he cared for Clary, it had never been something he thought he was capable of. And when he finally felt as though life was heading in the right direction, his plans had been ultimately derailed.

It may or may not have been his father to do so.

When Jace had arrived back at their estate, he'd been furious. He'd been ready for an argument with his father, to storm to him and demand an explanation. But when he arrived home, his father wasn't there. Ultimately it was a good thing since it gave Jace time to think upon past events. Lots and lots of time.

Jace couldn't deny that his father was vindictive and cunning for power. He had seen hints of it in the way he demanded that Jace seduce Clary to throw off her game when he planted the snake to scare off Clary's horse, and supposedly, he'd set up the paparazzi as well.

He wished it weren't his father, wished the man who'd raised him was better than that, but Jace knew instinctively that it had been him. Jace couldn't confront his father without some semblance of proof. So, when his father had returned, Jace had attempted to learn more information with a few questions here and there.

What had his father been doing out? What did he think of the news?

He should've known that it wouldn't work. His father had always been tight-lipped about personal affairs. Snooping had really been the only option. A simple check of the telephone records showed a strategically placed call to Lydia Branwell, television gossip host, a few minutes after he'd left to find Clary and propose the midnight excursion- Stephen's idea.

Jace didn't know how he hadn't seen it all along.

From his spot on the couch, he could see his father walking back and forth through the halls, retrieving his coat and organizing transport to the wedding.

"Jace, my boy," he said from the doorway, cursing the tie he was trying to put on under his breath. "Why are you not dressed for the wedding?"

After learning of his father's schemes, Jace was wary of his father going to the wedding. Especially without Jace present. But in the end, Jace knew that it would hurt too much to attend. And it didn't matter if his father attended either. Clary had "won the game" in his father's eyes. She was getting married today, there was no more reason to scheme.

"I think it would be better if I weren't there," Jace confessed.

In false encouragement, his father said, "come to church with me! Sweep that girl off her feet and she'll be yours."

Jace refrained from yelling at his father. Instead, he pasted on a false smile, one which he perfected from the faker before him. The apple didn't fall far from the tree in some respects.

"It's over, father," he said sternly, subtly hinting for Viscount Herondale to let it go as well. "She's going to marry Nicholas and become queen."

His father jumped out of the chair, rushing quickly for the door out of the study. "I suppose you're right. If only I can find Margaret to help me with this tie, I'll be all set…"

* * *

As his father left in their family's sleek black car, Jace stayed on the couch. He wouldn't say he was moping, but it was a close approximation. He did not expect the ringing at the door or the constant knocking that followed.

He was tempted to ignore it but thought, _hey, there's nothing better left to do._ So, he made his way over to the door, waving off the staff who were already stationed there.

Beyond the door was Alec, sporting a crisp grey suit and a look of irritation on his face. "Is there any reason you're not ready? We're late."

Jace took a deep breath, wondering why Alec was here to torture him some more. "Alec, I'm not going," he said plainly.

"And why not?"

Jace held his hands up in an exasperated gesture, "because I don't want to watch her get _married,_ Alec, that's why! There's no point in me going."

His best friend narrowed his eyes, his lips slightly parted. There was a pause, and then he exploded. "Jace, for the past month you've been complaining to me: Clary this, Clary that, I love her, but do you think she loves me?" Alec mocked, fluttering his eyelashes dramatically, "and when I give you a chance to get her back, you don't want to?"

"She's not mine to have, Alec!" Jace shouted, "she _has_ to get married today."

Alec shoved at his shoulder, "you really are an idiot sometimes. It's clear as day that she was never going to go through with this marriage. She may not know that yet, but half the country sure does. And your father knows it too."

Jace's anger fizzled out. He narrowed his eyes in question, "… my father?"

"He's going to the wedding, right?" Alec asked. When Jace nodded, he continued, tapping his foot on the ground as he explained animatedly. "Your father knows that Clary isn't getting married and when she refuses, he'll be right there to snatch the throne for you."

It finally dawned on him. "I should have seen it," he cursed. "I knew he has been scheming this whole time, and he was way too content getting ready for the wedding."

"Love makes you blind," Alec pointed out, grabbing Jace's arm and tugging him out of the house.

"Alec, what-"

Alec paused for a moment to look down at Jace's outfit, his face souring at the simple button-down and pants. He threw his free hand up. "That'll have to do," he muttered, before continuing to race them down the front pathway to his car.

Jace pulled his arm from Alec's when they reached the car. Alec was halfway inside already but straightened and turned to look at Jace.

"What's the holdup?"

Jace hesitated for only a second, before following Alec into the car. To be completely honest, he was nervous. The jittering feeling spread into his fingers and his leg, which bounced frantically to blow off energy as the car started to drive out onto the road.

He wasn't sure how Clary would react to him arriving. For all he knew, she was still furious at him for the paparazzi misunderstanding. He would try to explain the next chance he got. If she no longer loved him as he did her, he was sure they could be friends… right? Being simply a companion was miles better than losing all of her.

Today, the chance at reconciliation was slim. He was going to the wedding to stop his father.

If she did go through with the wedding, then Jace would make his presence unknown. If she didn't, then Jace would be there to decline the position of king. He wasn't sure where they stood from a relationship standpoint, but he hoped she would forgive him in time.

But for now, he had a wedding to attend.

* * *

The cathedral she was to be married in was grand, with high ceilings, sprawling architecture, and naked cherub babies carved into the pillars and the walls. Generations of her family had gotten married within these walls, and so would she. This was where her parents had gotten married also, and it made her feel closer to her father. If he couldn't physically be there to walk her down the aisle, it was a nice sentiment to know that he had been here, in a similar position to her, twenty or so years ago.

She was currently alone in an adjacent room to the main room, needing some time to collect her thoughts. The wedding would start any minute now and someone would soon come to fetch her. Clary could hear the ruckus outside, foreign reporters and civilians and guests all milling about in the streets outside. Despite the noise, this was the last time she'd be truly by herself for a while, and she tried to savour the feeling.

Too soon, the door opened. She was expecting her mother or Isabelle, but Luke walked in. Clary smiled, signalling that it was alright for him to enter. They were silent as he came to sit by her, wrapping an arm over her shoulder. It was pleasant.

"You look beautiful, Clary," he noted, gesturing to her dress.

It was a simple A-line dress with minimal beading around the neckline, nothing entirely extravagant. Clary had never imagined herself in a ball gown dress or anything too large. It was understated and calm, and she loved it. The best part was the colour, a beautiful rich gold. When she'd gone to America, she was shocked to discover that wedding dresses were predominantly white for, in Idris, white was the colour of mourning. Clary had always imagined herself in a gold wedding dress, and she was glad that the traditions of her country were unaffected by outside customs.

"Thank you," she said. In a softer voice, she whispered, "I'm sorry you're retiring."

At first, Clary wasn't sure he'd heard her. But he turned to her, squeezed her shoulders reassuringly and asked, "who told you that?"

"My maids," she confessed. "And my mom might have mentioned something."

Luke seemed to be far away, in a different location entirely. Though she had known Luke all her life, she didn't know much about his collective history with her parents. She'd never thought there was anything else to tell, besides the fact that they'd been three best friends. Perhaps there had been more drama and heartbreak than she'd thought. The look in Luke's eyes was one she recognized; it was love, pure and lasting love, mixed with wistfulness and longing. Clary knew it well.

"Clary, I came to see you for a reason," he said as she rested her cheek on his shoulder. He patted her head in a comforting gesture and though Clary's father wasn't able to be here, she was glad Luke was.

"Yes?"

He paused. "Jace didn't set you up at the lake."

Clary lifted her head, her eyes suddenly red-rimmed. She tried hard not to expel those tears, though, for Magnus would absolutely pitch a fit. Isabelle not far behind.

"You sure?" she whispered. He nodded in confirmation.

He looked at her knowingly, a small smile on his lips. He gave her one more hug, before standing to make his way to the door. With his hand on the door, he said conspiratorially, "the maids really do know everything," before she was left alone with her thoughts.

Clary had been thinking a lot about what had happened at Lake Lynn during the past few nights, replaying it over and over. And quite frankly, she'd been having doubts about Jace's involvement. At the time, she'd expected the worse. The betrayal had been fresh and their relationship new, she'd panicked. But now, she recalled the look of surprise on his features. He'd chased after her for a surprising amount of time on foot, while she rode horseback. He was either a great actor… or it was genuine.

Even Isabelle, who knew Jace more than she did, had said it was out of character for him. She'd been too afraid to allow them to be right because if they were, and Jace was innocent, then the marriage decision was a lot more difficult than before.

Now, she was nervous for a completely new reason.

Before Clary could process what this might mean or what new developments this information would bring, the choir started to sing the wedding march. Someone knocked at the door, letting her know it was her cue.

With deep breaths, she headed for the door.

There were no paparazzi, only a single hired photographer who captured the moment she walked out with her bouquet. There were guards on either side of the entrance where she was set to come in, but no one else.

She'd decided to walk herself down the aisle. Clary could have easily asked Luke or her mother, but it wouldn't be the same. The spot was reserved for her father and she hoped that he would be there, even if she couldn't see him. And maybe walking alone would show the Clave, who was all in attendance, that she was capable of being independent.

It was time. To the beat of the song, she walked through the flowers spread elegantly on the carpet below and met Nicholas's eyes. He looked handsome and kind, a smile gracing his features. She was sure she could be happy with him. They would rule side-by-side for the rest of their lives and she would grow to care for him. She already did care for his wellbeing.

She hadn't realized she'd stopped walking until the choir's voices had cut off. Clary stood halfway down the aisle, the whole assembly looking at her with amusement or concern (she couldn't tell). Her hands had loosened on the bouquet, and it had nearly fallen from her fingertips.

In her heart, she knew she couldn't go through with this. Both her and Nicholas deserved to find someone they loved wholeheartedly. Someone they were in love with. It was possible to love someone and not be in love. And it wasn't something Clary wanted. No amount of convincing would make Clary want differently. She couldn't force herself to fall in love with Nicholas.

Because she already loved someone else.

All her life, she was taught that the throne was everything. There were lots of sacrifices expected of her in order to maintain the throne. But it was the twenty-first century, for crying out loud. Couldn't she be expected to keep the crown without the expense of her happiness?

It was a hard decision, knowing that she could quite possibly lose her chance at the throne, but she dropped her bouquet in the aisle. She looked at Nic apologetically, with remorse in her eyes and a tremble in her lips. She mouthed to him, _'I'm sorry',_ and he dropped his head to his feet.

As the crowd gasped in horror, she turned towards the door she'd come in and ran.


	14. The Princess Saves Herself

When Clary rushed out of the front doors of the church, she almost forgot the presence of the media. She was preoccupied with trying to breathe. It was becoming increasingly difficult, heaving and heaving, until the bodice of her dress felt suffocating. At the moment, she was making a spectacle. But she didn't care anymore. There was no way she could go through with this wedding and as a result, no way she would become queen. It didn't matter what the world thought of her now.

Clary looked to the sky, moisture glistening on her face, to look for the rain clouds. She was surprised to see clear skies and realized that it wasn't raining at all. She was crying.

The flashes of cameras, mixed with hushed gossip, alerted her to the fact that hundreds, if not thousands of people, were witnessing her breakdown. So, she turned and ducked behind an enormous vase of flowers. Wrapping her arms around her knees, which were pulled tightly into her chest, she waited with her head down. The makeup she wore ran freely onto her white dress, staining the expensive material, but Clary couldn't care about that now. All that mattered to her was taking in one breath at a time, trying to calm herself and stop the hiccupping sobs that were escaping her.

Nicholas was so sweet and kind and she could be happy with him… but she didn't want to be. Clary wanted to be in love with the person she married. She felt guilty for leading him on for so long, leading the country on when in the back of her mind, she always knew that she wouldn't be able to go through with it. It wasn't who she was. Clary hoped her mother would be able to forgive her for it.

"Clary?"

Her head whipped up to see her mother, standing before her with a look of worry on her face. It only made Clary feel guiltier. Her mother looked gorgeous in a beautiful royal blue dress ensemble and matching accessories. She looked regal and perfect and everything a queen should be. It was no wonder the country adored Jocelyn Fairchild.

"Mom," she pleaded, attempting to keep a hard control over her trembling voice. "I'm so sorry, I don't think I can do this. If you want me to, I'll just need a minute…"

"Oh darling," her mother murmured, dropping to the ground beside her to give Clary a hug.

The embrace of her mother was so warm and comforting, she instantly relaxed into her. She had weathered through four years in America without her mother by her side and as she was cocooned in her arms now, Clary knew she was never leaving her side willingly again.

Jocelyn tilted her daughter's chin up so that they were eye to eye. "No one is forcing you to do this, Clary," she assured, making sure that Clary understood the sincerity in her tone. "Years ago, I made my choice in marrying Valentine. It was the right choice for me at the time, but it may very well not be the right one for you."

When Clary started to protest, Jocelyn continued, "and that's fine, Clary! We are different people."

Jocelyn wiped the tears from her daughter's face and smiled, admiring the girl who looked so much like Valentine but had her fiery hair and spirit. It was definitely the right choice. Even if it had split her heart in two.

She presented to Clary a handkerchief, which she took gratefully to wipe at her under eyes and nose. "I married Valentine, I loved him. But I lost the man I was in love with long before my marriage," Jocelyn confessed to Clary in a hushed tone.

Over her mother's shoulder, she saw Luke was positioned a few feet away, talking into his walkie talkie. He had been a large presence in her life since infancy, and she'd never thought to look deeper into his shared history with her mother until recently. But now, it was clear as glass that it was him whom her mother referred to. He was always by her side (granted, he was head of the royal guard) but it was more than that. They cared and loved each other deeply, even after all these years.

"I don't want you to feel any regret. And I was wrong to push Nicholas to you."

"No," Clary protested, stopping her mother's progress. "No, you didn't pressure me. We both want what's best for the kingdom and I was doing what I wanted at the time. Is it bad that I changed my mind?"

Clary laughed self-deprecatingly, feeling relief flood through her when her mother joined in. She held her hands up in a lost gesture, shrugging her shoulders before returning her gaze to the handkerchief still in her lap. She ran her fingers over the soft fabric, monogrammed with her mother's initials and the royal family crest.

Her fingers traced the lines of the crest as she said, "I just, I don't want to make any mistakes."

"Oh, you will," Jocelyn said good-humouredly. Before Clary could be offended by her mother's lack of faith, the queen pushed on, "I guarantee you'll make plenty of mistakes in your life. I did, everyone does. It's part of growing up and becoming your own person. And it will mean nothing if there isn't someone there to catch you when you fall."

Jocelyn gave her daughter a meaningful look, pressing her hands into Clary's and squeezing firmly, "the choice you make today won't matter either way to me. Marry or don't. As long as it comes from the heart."

The queen poked her daughter teasingly in the chest, making them both laugh. Clary didn't feel the urge to cry anymore and the air around her felt sweeter, somehow. She wasn't sure if her decision was the right one, but it was the one she was going to make. It wouldn't be easy but then again, nothing that mattered ever was, was it? Right or wrong, she knew what she had to do.

* * *

Stepping back onto the aisle was one of the hardest things she had to do. She walked briskly down the red velvet carpet, ignoring the shocked gasps and choir singing as her sights were set on Nicholas. Clary tried to remain standing tall, her chin held high, without tripping on her dress, over her heels, or the bouquet she'd carelessly thrown onto the ground earlier. The choir hushed when she reached the dais and as the minister began to speak, she held a hand up gently to stop him.

Taking Nicholas's hands in hers, she tried to do as her mother told her to do. She spoke from the heart. "Everyone deserves to find a chance at true love, right?" she wondered aloud, searching his features for his reaction.

He hesitated, tilting his head slightly to the side. Ultimately, he agreed, "yes."

She removed her hands from his. Gently, she pulled the engagement ring from her finger and held it up to him, "even us?"

He took a few seconds to gauge for her seriousness, before breaking out into a sheepish grin. "Thank you," he nodded, retaking the ring that once belonged to his great- grandmother.

Clary's eyebrows raised, a small smile spreading across her lips. She hummed in confusion.

"Duty is important to my family," he admitted. "Pride, loyalty, promise. I've always been taught to do the right thing, not to take selfish actions."

Nicholas laid a hand on her cheek for a brisk moment, before letting his hand drop, "not to say that I couldn't have been happy. I would very much like to stay friends. But- I love someone else too."

He leaned in to whisper in her ear, "it's Kaelie Whitewillow."

Clary barked out a laugh in surprise, slapping his shoulder playfully. Jace's date to the garden party had been fate, after all. She was happy for them. "We switched dates, did we?" she remarked jovially.

"You can't control who you love," Nicholas smiled. He was right. You definitely could not. "Now, I just have to tell my parents."

Clary smirked, "I just have to tell everyone else."

They shared a secret smile and she kissed his cheek amicably. She lingered by his ear to whisper, "good luck," which he dutifully returned. As he strode towards the row in which his parents sat, ignoring the antsy crowd and their murmurings, Clary silently wished him well once more.

Clary took three deep breaths, her nerves staying fried nonetheless, and made her way to a microphoned podium off to the side. She placed a somewhat fake smile on her face, hiding her insecurity and nervousness with pearly white teeth.

"The only reason I was getting married today was because of an ancient law set in place. Moments ago, I realized that wasn't a good enough reason," Clary started. She made eye contact with as much of the crowd as she could before her eyes landed on her mother. It was the final bit of assurance she needed as she spoke the next sentence, "as a result, I won't be getting married today."

Conversations broke out over the din, cutting through the shocked silence. Council members and co. commenced yelling at and quarrelling with one another from across the room. Several people brazenly stood up to exit, while others were gaping openly. No one was quite sure what to do, whether or not to stay, and if the princess before them would be crowned their queen or not.

"I plead with you, the people of Idris, to reconsider the marriage law," this time, her voice did not waver. Forcefully, she spoke her truth, "my mother had ruled without my father for four years without fault. She is an excellent queen, is she not?"

The crowd nodded in approval, prompting Clary to pursue her train of thought, "I would rule alone, with the guidance of my mother, until I choose to marry. I am confident that I will make a great queen."

Over the ruckus of the crowd, a single voice called out, once again hushing everyone. Clary bit her lip in annoyance as Viscount Herondale smirked delightedly, clearly pleased with this turn in events.

She narrowed her eyes at him. The scheming man was clearly up to something. She was still furious about his stunt at the lake, who knows what other embarrassments she'd experienced since returning had been his fault. She should have known all along. The man had planned her father's murder after all.

"The princess," he shouted, the royal title a mockery of naivety in his mouth, "has done nothing but cause trouble since she had returned, debasing the country, as well as the noble laws of Idris. A married woman cannot be queen, the law clearly states. She is not ready to rule alone, if ever."

He scornfully turned his attention to her, his eyes burning with contempt and his face triumphant, "there is another heir to the throne, one much better suited."

"No," a voice boomed, "there is not."

Heads began to swivel towards the entrance, Viscount Herondale included, to where Jace stood in the doorway. He was dressed for the wedding, fashionably late (no surprise) and staring right at Clary. Her breath seemed to catch in her throat. Even from several yards away, the heat of his gaze never failed to send a heavenly chill up her arms and spine.

He was here, at the wedding. Had the come to stop it? What would she have done if the wedding had continued as normal, only for him to show up? Clary was sure that she would have gone with him. Her mind kept racing the same thought over and over, _it wasn't him, it wasn't him, it wasn't him._ He hadn't set her up. She was wrong to ever have doubted him. All the things he'd told her that night was true.

She loved him, she realized with stark clarity. He wasn't some passing fling or rebellion. He was the one she loved wholeheartedly, and she knew in her bones that he felt the same way. Clary may not be ready to get married now, she was only eighteen, but she knew that Jace was her all or nothing. Her heart fluttered rapidly in her chest, clinging onto the newfound hope.

He continued to gaze at her, love and admiration clear in his eyes, as he spoke again, "I decline. I refuse to be king."

Jace broke contact to look over the throng, seeming to regard each and every one of them. He stood tall and poised, confidence oozing from him. Clary had to admit, he garnered the respect of the people. If he had wanted to, he could have easily taken her throne.

But he hadn't.

"Though Clary had spent the past few years in America, the experience has led her to more growth. She is kind and smart, unblinded by the ancient laws that our country unashamedly 'prides' itself upon. Princess Clarissa will prosper as queen," he looked to her through his lashes, a curl of hair placed delicately on his forehead. He smiled, "just imagine how lovely she'd look on our posted stamps."

The crowd chuckled and with Jace's words, Clary could see the crowd easing up to the idea. They were traditional and prided themselves upon the laws made by their forefathers, but slowly, Clary could imagine them opening up to the idea of change. It was scary, sure, but necessary in moving past prejudiced and unequal laws.

Outraged, the viscount stalked from his seat and towards his son, yelling obscenities. "You have a duty to your country, and you decline, for a girl? You ungrateful child. I eliminated the rightful heir so you could have the chance at this opportunity!"

The assembly stilled, taking in the viscount's shouted words. Clary looked to her mother; a look of horror planted across the queen's face. She hadn't known, Clary realized. The information stung like a newly fresh wound. Clary had wanted to seek justice for her father and brother but like Viscount Herondale had mentioned not too long ago, _'who do you think the country would believe, little girl?'_ Now, he had unintentionally outed his involvement in the deaths of the beloved monarchs. There was no way for him to escape retribution now.

Stephen Herondale blanched as his thoughts came racing back to him, painfully aware of the hundreds of eyes trained on him in outrage, horror, accusation. If the information had been news to Jace, he didn't show it. His face was an impenetrable blank mask, the only clue of his anger indicated in the subtle clench of his jaw. Jace raised his eyes from his father to her once more, gold meeting green, and nodded once. In acceptance, in defeat, in goodbye, Clary wasn't sure.

Before she could question the look for herself further, Jace walked away, as the room descended into madness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will try my best to finish this story before July. It's the home run now with two chapters left. Review and tell me your thoughts.


	15. Clary Smooth Talks the Clave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that Hodge Starkweather was never really Consul but in this story, he is. I tried to incorporate some of the Shadowhunter universe government lingo but made it my own as well, so it may not be entirely accurate.

"Order! Order!" cried Consul Hodge Starkweather, rising swiftly from his seat in an attempt to hush the chaotic crowd.

Council members were talking rapidly amongst themselves, arguing over who was the next rightful heir to the Idrisian throne after Jace Herondale and what to do now that the current line of the procession was thrown into chaos. There was talk of third cousins twice removed, and the nephew of a nephew who was little more than three years old.

_'Was this the end of the Fairchild lineage?'_ many whispered and wondered aloud. The noble families bickered over the crown, grabbing for it metaphorically with wicked gleams in their eyes and not a second glance at Clary. Some thought the Fairchilds' reign had gone on for too long and the rich families were vying for a chance at fresh blood.

Clary felt helpless, standing before the masses who were picking apart her royal title like vultures picking meat off bones. _Some princess she was,_ she thought to herself miserably. Her endeavours to speak were cut off abruptly by new squawks of protest and another round of disagreements.

The Consul barrelled his way towards her, stress sweat beading down his face from his temples. He wiped the sweat away with the sleeve of his elbow, an action in vain because new sweat droplets arose soon after. He came to stand beside her and motioned her closer, away from the microphone.

"A motion!" he coughed into his hand, discreetly muffling the words enough that only Clary could hear.

Clary raised her eyebrows in understanding, opened her mouth to emit an 'ahh' sound and sidestepped back to the podium. She spoke confidently into the microphone- though she was anything but.

"Consul?" she inquired as to a sign of respect, not speaking again until there was a clear head nod for the people to observe, "I move to abolish the marriage law for which it applies to current and all future queens of Idris."

The crowd was silenced once more. In shock and awe. They seemed wary of her, this young eighteen-year-old princess (practically a foreigner some would mutter disdainfully under their breaths), but they listened respectfully in wait. In anticipation.

"Will anyone second my motion?" Clary demanded.

As the seconds ticked by, Clary became less sure of her standing. No one had yet made a move to stand behind her and embrace such change. She looked unsurely at the Consul, who quickly told her via hushed voice to show dominance by firmly staring down the opposition.

Easier said than done. It was her who fell prey to the vicious eyes of uncertainty.

Clary tried her best to make eye contact with everyone she could with a soft smile and deadly gaze, particularly the other council members scattered throughout various places in the grand room. Her shoulders grew tense, trying not to burst into pathetic tears as she awaited a response. She needed a sign. Anything to ensure that she was doing the right thing.

Suddenly, Henry Branwell rose from his seat beside his wife and child, hands open in a brazen show of acceptance for the audience to see. Though Henry was sometimes ridiculed by the other members of the Clave for being too lenient and a daydreamer, his display of support would surely prompt others to do the same.

He cleared his throat with a cough and spoke. "I second the motion." When no one else agreed, waiting for an explanation, he supplied one. "I like change," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck in nervousness as the hundreds of eyes continued to train on him. "It's about time there was an amendment to the Covenant."

"Preposterous!" shouted Malachi Dieudonné, rage climbing through his clenched fists and angry jaw. He addressed the people, staring agape at his outburst, then finally to Branwell, who seemed regretful of speaking at all. "The Covenant cannot simply change after generations upon generations. The laws that govern us are written in the book of our ancestors; you fool! Sed lex dura lex. The law is hard, but it is the law!"

"Oh, screw the law!" Clary blurted, suppressing the urge to slap her hand over her mouth in shock. She stood her ground.

A collective gasp sounded throughout the hall, several guests clutching at imaginary (and real) pearl necklaces. Had she messed up her chances even worse?

"Quiet, quiet!" Consul Starkweather waved his hands in a placating gesture, calming down the bickering men and spontaneous princess. He turned to Clary, who was beginning to feel more and more incompetent. "Princess, how do you plead your case?"

Clary breathed in deeply, knowing the fate of herself and all of the women to be born after she was sitting upon her shoulders. She could make a change for her daughters, her granddaughters and any descendant who would be oppressed by the law if she didn't stand up for them.

Her country was surely not emotionless. The men before her had hearts, loved ones. So, that was what she catered to.

"Think of your sisters, daughters, granddaughters, nieces. Any women you love and care for. Wouldn't you want them to marry for love? Shouldn't they marry someone because they want to, not because of a law forcing them to? Not because they're scared of what might happen to their family if they don't?" Her voice broke, eyes becoming increasingly red-rimmed.

She was scared, she realized. Clary didn't know what would happen to her family if she didn't become queen. The public shame would mean nothing if her entire lineage was discarded to the side as if they had meant nothing. Her brother meant something, her _father_ had meant something, and she had been willing to risk her happiness to secure them a prideful place in the history books.

Now she knew that change was inevitable, and she was the only one willing to evoke it.

Her tears were honest, but they seemed to be helping her case as well. Eyes of the council softened, gazing at the princess with understanding. The pressure put on her was insurmountable.

Clary couldn't show too much of a sign of weakness, though, because her bawling for her rights would lose her respect. It was twisted and counterproductive, but it was true. Women were known to be emotional, but they were not allowed to let it show too much. Respect depended upon it.

"I love Idris," she said honestly, eyes glimmering with memories of her homeland. The culture, the diversity of people and various traditions, as well as the beautiful land so well preserved by citizens. It had faults, sure, but it was her home. "I love my country and all of its people. With a few years' guidance at my mother's side, I know that I will be a fair and just queen. One worthy of you all."

She met her mother's gaze, and smiled, "I deserve to make my father proud. I deserve to make my country proud. Please, let me have a chance to do so."

Isabelle's father stood from the crowd, smiling gently to her. He had never been a strong figure in her life, always away on business when she and Izzy had been children, but he had always been kind and a respectable man.

"I," he agreed, his voice booming sure and confident, echoing. Isabelle's eyes shone with tears of gratitude off to Clary's side, where the bridesmaids had been patiently sitting in the front row all this time.

Like a catalyst, council members stood by the dozens, it seemed, shouting out their newfound approval with hearty cheers and consenting nods of their heads. Clary's heart sored with hope and love for her people. The actions of the council members renewed her faith in the good of people, and in herself as well.

"The 'I's' have it," the Consul announced, a proud grin wrinkling his face.

Clary laughed in delight, clapping her hands alongside the rest of the crowd. She looked to her friends in the crowd, sharing her success with them. Beautiful and feisty Izzy, sweet and nerdy Simon, quiet Alec and confident Magnus, understanding Nicholas. The support she felt from them was one of the warmest feelings, almost as nice as a parent's hug... or a lover's kiss.

Once again, Clary looked to her mother for approval. To her surprise, her mother's gaze seemed far off. A gentle smile was placed delicately on her face, but there was a hint of melancholy and bittersweetness to her aura. Clary's eyes landed on Luke, several paces away, whose face mirrored the queen's.

Though it may have been twenty years further in the future than she had planned, Clary wanted to give her mother a happily ever after… even if her own wasn't yet secured. Her future with Jace was rocky and uncertain, there would be an abundance of ups and downs, but she hoped to spend her life with him. After they reconciled, of course.

But now wasn't quite the time for that yet, there was still to be a wedding today if Clary could help it. Not hers, like she'd once thought. A new one entirely.

Discreetly as she could, she stepped away from the podium towards a guard who stood in the shadows. She motioned to the walkie talkie in his hand, lifting her eyebrows in question (both of them because Angel's above, she couldn't only lift one. It was an acquired skill she could never master).

When he handed the device to her, she gratefully nodded and spoke hesitantly. "Mom, can you hear me?"

There were a few bars of static before a voice sounded, tinny and distinctly queenlike, at the receiving end. "Clary? What is it, dear?"

From her position further back, she could still make eye contact with her mother. Sheepishly, a blush in her cheeks, she commenced, "you know, my day didn't end with true love. That doesn't have to be the same for you…"

Clary pointedly jerked her head in the direction of Luke, who stood off to her mother's left and appeared oblivious to their conversation. She swore she could see the queen's cheeks tint as bright as her hair, though Jocelyn would never admit to it.

"Clary…" the queen tried to reprimand, but it was hard to do so in her flustered and hopeful state.

The princess shot a wink to her mother. "Life will mean nothing if there isn't someone there to catch you when you fall," she said knowingly, quoting her mother's earlier words back to her. From the way her mother smiled, Clary knew that she recognized the words as her own as well.

"What's the point in giving advice when you don't take it for yourself," Jocelyn mused, clicking off the walkie talkie, before heading in her love's direction.

* * *

For the first time in her life, Jocelyn was nervous around Luke. He had always been a constant, comforting presence to her, and the new feeling of uncertainty clawed at her. She wasn't sure how he'd react, after her rejection from a week or so earlier. Was he too prideful to accept her now that she had hurt his dignity, or did he simply not love her anymore? The queen shook her head, scolding herself for such immature insecurities that she thought she'd grown out of years prior. She was no longer a teen; she could express herself without fluttering emotions…. Maybe.

"Luke?"

"Your Majesty," he bowed his head courteously. He turned to face her fully, a guarded expression in his eyes that threatened to break her in two. Nevertheless, she powered on.

"Is it too late to take a chance on love?" she asked him curiously, scanning him for a reaction. Her fingers flittered nervously by her side, in the folds of her dress. "Is it to late to ask you to accept my hand in marriage?"

For a frightening second, his face stayed blank in a cool mask of indifference. Jocelyn was anxious that she'd lost him for good.

Until a wide smile threatened to split his face and he rested the back of his hand to her right cheek, caressing ever so gently. "I thought you'd never ask."

* * *

Jace stood from his position in the hallway, watching the queen and her head guard walking down the aisle. After his father had been apprehended by officials, shouting obscenities even as he was carried away, he hadn't known really what to do. While he had suspected his father of sinister deeds, the confirmation had stunned him.

He had contemplated leaving, not knowing if he was still welcome as the son of the man who'd murdered the monarch in 'honour' of him. The feeling left an icky feeling on Jace's skin, something he didn't know if he could ever wash off. The thought of king and prince killed off, in a sick gift from his father to Jace, was nauseating. He didn't know if Clary could ever forgive him for such a thing.

He had started to leave but had stopped himself once the shouts from inside had been too tempting to ignore. He watched just out of view, able to hear the disputes from the council members, who were too privileged and stuck in the old ways for their own good. When Clary had spoken, as sappy as it was, Jace couldn't help but be transfixed by her words.

He was completely enamoured with the girl that was Clarissa Fairchild, princess, and heir to the throne of Idris.

As she had continued her impassioned speech, he knew that he had wholeheartedly made the correct decision in declining the throne. It was she who was the rightful heir. No one could love a country more than the royal born into the role, and the role she would be. He had complete faith in her, and he couldn't wait to see her progress.

He just hoped it would be with him by her side.

He had cheered his silent support when the ancient law had been revoked and altered and had surprised himself still by staying to watch the wedding of her mother. The wedding that had almost been hers. He had arrived at just the right time, thanks to Alec who he would properly thank later on. Jace could have ascended the throne (courtesy of his father) if he hadn't arrived in time to decline. Clary would never have forgiven him and even worse, he would never have forgiven himself.

Though he was dying to ignore all etiquette, rush into the room and wrap her into his arms to never let go, he withheld. There was a lovely wedding in progress and Clary deserved to be happy for a day without the weight of a country or marriage or law on her shoulders. Without the pressure of him and the possibility of a relationship.

As soon as he could, he would attempt to mend their fractured love piece by piece. Even if it took years, he vowed they would be reunited. Reconciliation could wait until tomorrow, he decided.

For today, he would be content in watching her smile. And Jace wouldn't have it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a little cheesy but it's the good kind, to me at least ;) The next chapter will have the reconciliation of Jace and Clary, as well as the ending scenes. Review!


	16. All Hail the Queen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written later than I intended since I ended up being a lot busier last week than I'd expected to be. But here it is, the final chapter of I Loathe You after two years in the making. In total, this story ended up being 160 double-lined pages on Word, for those who are interested.

It was the night before her coronation.

Finally, after a month of fighting for her rights to the throne and proving her love for the country, she was on top. While she knew the first few years of her rule would be rocky, her mother would be by her side in guidance, before retiring graciously with Luke. Clary would be sad to see them off on a new adventure (travelling followed by a move to the countryside of Idris, her mother had implied excitedly) but she knew she could handle it. This was her destiny, after all. This was what she was meant to do.

It had been a week since her near-wedding and her mother's actual wedding. Viscount Herondale had been questioned profusely on the "accident" of the King and his heirs, to which he was found guilty. He had wanted to kill the heirs to the throne, her, and Jonathan, for his son but obviously, he hadn't succeeded entirely.

She felt remorseful, not for the viscount, who deserved every penny of suffering he brought, but for Jace, who didn't ask for a vindictive father with an obsession for power. Clary hoped the ruling of his father's crimes didn't cause a wedge too large to be brokered between them.

Clary knew she wouldn't have had to take on the kingdom as her own if Jonathan were still alive, but she graciously would in his honour. Her father and brother would be with her every step of the rocky way.

Shedding a few silent tears at the loss, she stepped out from the palace and into the warm night air. The coronation party was in full swing in the garden, reminding her of a similar setting from a few weeks back- save for the fact of it being nighttime… and the soon-would-be-flaming hoop suspended high in the sky.

Traditionally in Idris, the coronation party was held the night before the actual crowning, wherein the future monarch would have the chance to shoot the symbolic arrow. In ancient times, if one failed this task, the responsibilities of ruler would be handed off to the next in line. She wasn't sure what would happen if she missed, though, since no one had missed within the last few hundred years. Not to add any pressure or anything…

Clary just had to make sure that she wouldn't miss.

She'd taken extensive lessons, starting out horribly but after the help from Jace -Clary blushed at the memory of his hands on her skin- she had startlingly improved. While there were a few bad shots taken, as for most people, she was more or less confident that she would be capable of lighting the fire.

The partygoers hushed as she stepped from the shadows and onto the manicured grass, careful not to fidget with her red dress in anxiousness. Cool, calm, collected, yeah right. The expectant eyes on her started a sweat down the column of her spine, the summer air not helping to cool her down in the slightest. Clary smiled as confidently as she could, hiding the shaking of her hands in the skirt fabric of her dress as she curtsied politely.

No one moved, though, for the party could not go on without the hoop ablaze above them.

Luke stepped towards her, handing her the exact bow that her mother had used twenty years prior for the same occasion, and gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead, as well as an assuring 'dad pat' on the shoulder. This did wonders on her nerves until she felt substantially grounded again. Without words, Luke had managed to convey so much to her.

She wouldn't bring the end of the world if she were to fail, though he didn't believe she would. And she wouldn't be a disappointment to him or her mother, which was something Clary had feared since landing in Idris a month ago.

A guard fashioned a nub on the arrow, specifically to hold the fire and prevent it from spreading down the bow and promptly used a match to light the blasted thing. The heat from the fire filled the air around her head.

"Ceremonial shooting of the flaming arrow through the coronation ring!" announced Magnus Bane, future Master of Ceremonies-in-training, giving her a wink.

That, and the reassurance from her parents, gave her the stability to string her arrow onto the bow, securing it in place, and took a deep breath, feeling the suspense of the moment on her shoulders. She remembered the teachings of Jace: relax, elbow down, breath in, kiss the bow, breath out-

Without anything left to lose, she launched, watching the arrow arc high into the sky. For a terrifying moment, it looked as though it had veered too far off to the left, headed straight for the ice sculpture of the glass palace behind them.

Clary almost closed her eyes, shame coursing through her veins and spilling colour into her cheeks, but at the last second, she paused. No, no, it was going in! The arrow, rather than fly through the middle as she'd hoped, had been to the left of the middle and had managed to stay in. As a result, the lighting of the hoop was discombobulated and wonky, but it had sparked, nonetheless.

Clary stared proudly up at the fiery hoop in the sky, signifying the beginning of her reign and the approval of the angels above. For the first time, she felt complete relief, held back by no reservations or nagging feelings in the back of her mind. Though she had been expecting to be queen for the past week assuredly, there was nothing that stood in her way now.

Applause enveloped her, wrapping her in warmth and love and giddiness at the success of a seemingly simple yet momentous event. Claps of congratulations were heard, and Clary bowed to them, raising her hand in signal for the party to continue on. She spun in a circle, attempting to locate her mother, but found Jace instead.

Clary hadn't noticed him before, being so hidden in the shrubbery he was, but there he was, the light blue of his shirt lending splendidly to the golden hint of his skin and the silky quality of his hair. For a moment, they stood still.

The party bustled around them, but it seemed to fade away, their gaze the only thing important enough to pay attention to. There was unsureness and hesitancy until Jace smiled. And Clary knew everything between them would be alright. She couldn't help but smile back, still rooted to her spot from several feet away. Too far away.

He motioned her closer to him with the slight gesture of his hand, before turning down a lanterned pathway leading further into the royal gardens. She didn't wait to follow after him.

* * *

They walked side by side down the cobblestone pathway, Clary running her fingers through the flowers on the bushes and Jace with his hands placed inside his pockets. At a curve in the pathway, going either to a man-made pond or the labyrinth of hedges was a stone bench, angels and clouds engraved wrapping around the edges of the dark seating.

Clary gestured towards it and so they sat, ever so silently and far too apart for her liking. The few inches proved taunting and she wished she could vanquish the distance and jump him already. But she couldn't do that…yet.

After a few quiet seconds basking in the bittersweet heat and watching the gentle sway of nature surrounding them. Clary opened her mouth to speak. Of what, she wasn't sure, but anything to chase away the chasm before them.

But Jace bet her to it. "I'm sorry," he stammered, hands resting on either side of his thighs on the bench, as if he may launch up to sprint away at any moment.

"I wasn't aware of my father's involvement in the accident, truly. If I'd known…" he paused, reaching for her hand but pulling away before contact was ever made. He looked up to her then and though she hadn't doubted him for a second on this topic, the genuine pleading for belief washed away any lingering thoughts.

It seemed as though he would continue to grovel for her forgiveness, so she decided to stop the tirade and closed the distance of their hands. Surprise showed on Jace's features, but he didn't pull away, instead, turning his hand over so that their palms met and their fingers dutifully entwined.

Clary smiled, revelling in the relaxation of his face and tense body. "I know you had nothing to do with it. With any of it, from the accident to the scheming this past month. Maybe slightly at the beginning, but you hadn't known me, and you were doing what you thought was best."

When he opened his mouth to speak again, she pressed her finger to his lips, affectively shushing him. She shivered at the slight kiss his lips left on her. "I should've known you were not involved in the paparazzi fiasco, but I was so quick to believe your guilt. It's me who should be sorry."

"I should have instilled more faith in you regarding our relationship," he shook his head, "how can you forgive me after what my father has done? Even when I hadn't known, my family has caused such pain for you."

Clary took it upon herself to scoot across the bench, closer to him, eliminating the space. Their legs pressed together, so did their torsos, and Jace had no choice but to wrap an arm around her shoulders, which she delighted in.

"I've known for a while now. About the accident, I mean."

She felt Jace jerk against her, angling his upper body away so that he could face towards her. His eyebrow raised high; he didn't have to verbalize the question for Clary to understand. When?

She continued, "that day in the stables. After you left and before Luke came, I saw your family rune on your father's garments. For years, I had drawn the symbol in my journal without knowing what it was or why I was drawing it in the first place."

She took a deep breath, even after four years and remembering nothing up until recently, it still chilled her to the bone to talk about. Clary persisted, though, determined to share her past with the person she would hopefully spend the future with. Once she explained to him, she would never have to talk about it again to anyone… except maybe a judge at his father's trial. She could handle that though. Retribution for the one who wronged her terribly. There was a sense of rightness to that.

"When I saw the symbol again, it all clicked into place," she explained, her voice whisper soft. Jace bent his head towards her, foreheads resting carefully against one another, in order to hear her. "I was there, in the car with my brother and father that night. Somehow, I survived. When I woke up shortly after blacking out, I saw the figure of a man who wore the same symbol, though I hadn't clearly seen his face. When I told your father of what I remembered, he confirmed it. He-" she faltered, "he said no one would believe me. It was my word against his and at the time, my word didn't mean much. So, I didn't say anything."

Jace wrapped his arms around her, leading her head to rest into the crook of his neck as tears started to stream down her face. He ran his hands soothingly up and down her back, whispering nothing of substance but comforting the less into her ears until she felt better again. When she stopped crying, they broke apart, but only slightly. Clary was reluctant to leave anytime soon.

The confession had lifted a weight off her shoulders but had no doubt placed one onto Jace's. Clary was sure of where they stood, but was he? Did her admittance of knowing to his father's involvement assure him in any way, or lead to more guilt on his part? She needed a way for him to feel as secure of their position as she was, but she didn't know how-

Suddenly remembering something important, she held up a finger to tell him 'one minute' before fishing into the pockets of her dress.

Removing the neatly folded piece of paper from her pocket gently, which she'd kept safe for little over a week now, Clary held it out to him caught in between her pointer and middle fingers. Her breath notched when the comfort of the paper left her, her wrapped heart now firmly in his grasp. It would be up to him as to how their love story would go. She had done all she could.

He opened the paper, taking time to flatten the creases with small pressures of his thumb. When the paper was opened, he stared. And stared and stared and stared. Clary felt her cheeks burst into flames, embarrassment flooding through her more so when she noticed the furrow in between his brows.

There was no sound, no indication that he would respond at all. What had she done? Clary didn't know if she should stand her ground, pretend that his rejection didn't sting her like acid, or flee to the comfort of her mother's room like a little girl. She decided on the former, the latter could be done later in secret if must.

Just when Clary was about to give up, Jace smiled. He smiled and the whole world seemed brighter, seemed to lift with him, causing happiness to float in the air around them. She felt the beginnings of a smile crease her mouth as well, the uncertainty ebbing away.

Jace tipped the paper towards her so she could catch the top of her sketch, upside down. His fingers ran over the drawing (which she'd so studiously worked at) before he raised his eyes to meet hers.

He preened, "I translate well to paper, don't I?"

Clary nodded, the blush in her cheeks still noticeable. She felt incredibly shy as she responded, "yes. To be honest, when I started drawing, I didn't have the intention of drawing you in particular; I just wanted to draw something. But I always draw what's on my mind, and it turned out to be you."

"No surprise there," he quipped, to which she rolled her eyes, though her amusement was hard to hide.

She leaned forward, cautiously, cautiously. Clary reached out her hand to his, stopping the ministrations of his tracing. Tucking her hair nervously behind her ear with her free hand, she peered up at him.

"It's always been you, Jace. It took me the whole month to realize it but it's true," she told him. "Even after learning of your father's involvement, I still fell for you. I have come to realize that you are not your father, and I don't hold you accountable for the things he had done. How could I?"

She caressed both of his cheeks in her hands, holding his face close to hers and said with as much conviction as possible, "I love you, Jace. You must realize by now."

Clary yelped, squealing with laughter and delight as he jumped from the bench, twirling around with her secured in his arms. He set her down in the grass, steadying her as she almost toppled over from dizziness, and kissed her underneath the stars.

"I love you, too. I never doubted that you know," he responded.

They both knew this was a lie, but it was behind them now, and they would always be clear of their love for one another from now on.

Clary nodded before pressing her lips to his again.

* * *

Clary and her mother walked side by side, current queen and next in line, very soon to be changed. They were clothed in traditional ceremonial gowns, crowns of old adorning their twisted-up curls. The music echoed through the halls and Clary noticed tears of joy and pride in her mother's eyes.

Reaching the end of the hall, she stood before the throne raised on a dais. Placing her hand in the Archbishop's, she took his help in climbing to the platform, her maids carrying the train of her dress behind her.

Gathering her skirts, she turned to face the crowd. Little faith had been had in the young princess, Idrisian by birth and American by schooling, but here she was at last. Clary was glad to bring honour to her country, her family and herself. She would make Idris proud, and prove to everyone that she was worthy of the crown. With bated breath, she lowered herself onto the throne.

Her eyes met Jace's, which mirrored her own. Full of anticipation and warmth and love. He mouthed those delicious words, the ones she would never tire of hearing, 'I love you.' She mouthed them in return.

Clary sighed a breath of relief, feeling the crown kiss the top of her head. Nestled firmly in her hair, she rose her chin along with the sceptre that had been placed in her hand, holding herself proudly for the world to see.

A smile spread her lips. This is where she was meant to be.

"All Hail Clarissa Adele Fairchild, Queen of Idris!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to all who read and loved this story, your comments and support have meant so much to me. Have a good summer and stay safe!

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first chapter of a work I started two years ago on fanfiction.net and decided to share it on this site as well. It's still a work in progress but I plan to have 16 chapters in total, 10 of which are already written. Please enjoy and review!


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